


Choices & Consequences and other stories (Jaded's Young Blades Fic Archive)

by Anonymous



Category: Young Blades (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Breakup, Claustrophobia, Compilation, Crack, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Drama, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Infidelity, Loss of Virginity, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy, Romance, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, The Princess Bride References, Unrequited Love, Water Sex, dark!Jacqueline, uncomfortable sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A compilation of Young Blades fic of varying quality, mainly drabbles and other very short one-shots, originally posted to LiveJournal and defunct fan sites between 2005 and 2008. Posted here for archival purposes under a single story as I don't feel like maintaining a new alias for this. Nothing is edited from my saved copies of the original postings. Ratings (ranging from G to E) and summaries are specified for each chapter.
Relationships: Jacqueline Roget/Siroc, d'Artagnan fils (Young Blades)/Jacqueline Roget, d'Artagnan/Tatiana
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Choices & Consequences (d'Artagnan/Jacqueline babyfic, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Choices & Consequences," the original Young Blades babyfic, originally serialized between 2005 and 2007. ~9000 words. 
> 
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: d'Artagnan/Jacqueline  
> Tags: drama, pregnancy, claustrophobia, miscommunication, open ending

**Chapter 1**

“This is all your fault.”

D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow as he wiped the vomit from Jacqueline’s face. “If I recall correctly, you were a willing participant.”

Jacqueline groaned. More than willing, in fact. She had been the one who insisted they get married. She’d half expected him to shy away from the commitment, and he had earned all her respect when he agreed. She wasn’t just another conquest; she was his wife.

His pregnant wife.

“You try throwing up every morning and see how you like it. I can’t believe I still have six more months of this...”

Six more months. Which reminded her – they needed to come up with a plan. Because, barring some sudden inexplicable weight gain, Jacques Leponte could definitely not start to show.

“Any new suggestions?” she asked.

D’Artagnan shook his head. “Not since yesterday. I still think we should both take a leave of absence.”

“And I still think that looks too suspicious,” Jacqueline argued. “And besides, where would we go? And what about the baby?”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

“That’s what you said before I got pregnant,” Jacqueline grumbled.

In truth, she was as excited about having a child as d’Artagnan. Starting a family hadn’t been at the top of her list of priorities; actually, it was somewhere just above getting executed for treason. But that was before she met the man she loved.

D’Artagnan placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Did I ever tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”

She shook her head incredulously. “I’m exhausted and I just threw up.”

He placed his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t care,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“You don’t have any ideas,” she whispered back with a smile. “So you’re trying to distract me.”

“Mmm.” He kissed the top of her head. “Is it working?”

She sighed. “D’Artagnan, we really need to talk about this. In a few more weeks, we won’t be able to hide it any more. There’s only one thing I can think of to do.

“We have to tell Captain Duval.”

\----

**Chapter 2**

“Ahem.”

Duval looked up from his desk. “Ah, d’Artagnan, Leponte. What can I do for you?”

They were nervous. They stood side by side, hands clasped – a physical contact they had, Duval noticed, generally avoided in public. He smiled slightly. He knew the day would come sooner or later...

D’Artagnan spoke first. “Captain, we have something important to tell you.”

“Leponte’s really a woman, and you two got married.”

A stunned silence followed this assessment. D’Artagnan’s mouth seemed to be trying to form words that refused to come. Finally he sputtered, “How – how did you...?”

Duval smiled. “I make it a point to know everything about my Musketeers. Rest assured, your secret is safe with me. You’re a good fighter, Leponte – or should I say Madame d’Artagnan?” He detected a faint blush on the now obviously feminine cheek. “You have my word that I will never turn you over to the Cardinal.” He ruffled the papers he had been reading. “Well, if that will be all...”

“There’s something else, sir,” said Jacques – Jacqueline d’Artagnan née Roget, he reminded himself. The blush spread further now.

“What is it?”

An embarrassed hesitation; then: “We’re expecting.”

It was Captain Duval’s turn to be stunned. “Congratulations,” he said finally, but his smile faded as he realized the gravity of the situation. “I can see why you might be concerned...”

D’Artagnan had his arm around Jacqueline’s shoulder now, holding her close as if she were a glass figurine that could shatter at a sudden breath. As a strong woman and a skilled swordfighter, Duval had thought she would resent that kind of treatment; but from the way she leaned into his side he could tell that she welcomed it. Even knowing she was a woman, Duval had never seen this feminine side of her before. She played the part of Jacques Leponte well. He wondered how she would handle the change.

“We thought you could help us,” said d’Artagnan.

“I’ll do everything I can,” Duval promised. “The problem is, once you’re dressed as a woman, you’ll easily be recognized. You’d have to remain in hiding.”

“No.” D’Artagnan looked at Jacqueline with surprise, and she continued: “I can’t raise my child like that. Could you, Captain?”

He shook his head. No, of course he couldn’t. But he couldn’t think of a better idea, either.

Well, not entirely true. He hesitated; they might not to reveal their secret to any more people than they had to. But Duval knew he wasn’t the resident expert on creative problem-solving.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help,” he said. “But you know what they say: five heads are better than three.”

Jacqueline and d’Artagnan made eye contact, giving silent agreement, and d’Artagnan nodded. “We’ll talk to Ramon and Siroc.”

\----

**Chapter 3**

“Jacques is a woman?” Ramon repeated for the fourth time in the past five minutes.

“Be careful around that!” Siroc warned as Ramon’s habit of speaking with his hands threatened to knock over one of the more fragile instruments in his lab. Ramon took a step away from the counter and was silent, giving Siroc a moment to answer Jacqueline’s question.

“It will be difficult,” he said.

“Then you’ll help us?” asked d’Artagnan hopefully. His fingers entwined with Jacqueline’s in a loving gesture. Siroc had gotten over the fact that Jacques was a woman rather quickly; actually, he’d suspected for a while that Jacques wasn’t who he pretended to be, but hadn’t been sure enough to ask. What still surprised him was this emerging new side of d’Artagnan. In the years Siroc had known him – and, if rumor be believed, long before that – d’Artagnan had always loved women, but never any one for too long. Siroc could never have pictured his friend settling down into marriage and parenthood; and yet, here they were.

Of course, there was just this minor problem of Jacqueline being wanted for murder...

“Of course we’ll help you, amigo!” Ramon was apparently beginning to recover from the initial shock. Any moment now he’d begin rhapsodizing. “Where there is love, no problem is too big.”

Siroc shook his head. “I’ll stick with science.” In his opinion, love only caused more problems. Look at where it had gotten Ramon. And look where it had them now.

Jacqueline frowned, but he could tell she wasn’t serious because her eyes still held the bright smile that she hid so well in her disguise as Jacques. “That’s not very romantic.”

“It’s practical,” he replied. “Cardinal Mazarin’s not just going to forget the woman who killed one of his guards, and if Jacques Leponte suddenly disappears and his twin sister shows up, it’s bound to turn some heads.” _And not just because of your beauty..._

She _was_ beautiful, he realized suddenly, and willed himself not to blush. Despite his suspicions, he’d never really looked at Jacqueline as a woman until now. He had known her for too long as Jacques to be attracted to her; but as a scientist, his powers of observation were astute as always. Wearing a dress instead of a Musketeer uniform, her hair cascading down to her shoulders, he wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for a man.

“You’re only safe if the Cardinal stops looking for you,” he continued, tearing his eyes away. “And he’ll only stop looking for you if he thinks the problem has been taken care of.”

“You sound like you have a plan,” said d’Artagnan.

Siroc nodded. “I do.

“We’re going to kill Jacques Leponte.”

\----

**Chapter 4**

For a moment there Jacqueline was certain she’d heard wrong. “I’m sorry, kill me? How does _that_ help anything?”

“We won’t _really_ kill you, of course,” Siroc continued, pacing fervently. Well, that was a relief... “But if we can make it look like Jacques is dead, then reveal to the Cardinal that Jacques was really Jacqueline Roget, he’ll stop looking for you. Then we wait a while, create a new identity for you, and introduce you as d’Artagnan’s wife.”

“I’m not sure I got all that,” Ramon confessed.

“Start at the beginning,” said Jacqueline. “And go slower this time.” It probably made perfect sense in his mind, but a few of the minor details had apparently gotten lost in translation. “How exactly are we going to convince everyone that I’m dead?”

Siroc bit his lip. Maybe the details weren’t so clear after all... “I’m still working on that.”

Which was a legitimate cause for panic.

D’Artagnan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s all right. It’ll all work out.”

How could he be so certain? Jacqueline sighed. In a way it was easier when she only had to worry about her own safety. Now she had a husband and a child to worry for as well. Truth be told, she felt more afraid than she had ever felt in her life. It wasn’t just the fear of death – though that was a natural human feeling. It was the fear of what would happen to the people she left behind.

“Captain Duval – he knows?” asked Siroc.

“Yes,” said d’Artagnan, leaving out the fact that he’d known for quite some time already. “And he’s promised his full support.”

Siroc nodded. “Good. It will be easier if we don’t have to hide this from him.”

Jacqueline felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Maybe she should have confided in someone earlier. Maybe things would have been easier if she hadn’t been guarding so many secrets.

But it was too late for such regrets now. They didn’t have much time to come up with a plan. At least now they didn’t have to do it alone.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping us.”

Ramon smiled. “We Musketeers have to stick together, sí?”

And that they did.

\----

**Chapter 5**

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Siroc stopped pouring and looked over his shoulder at d’Artagnan. “It might not be if you keep distracting me in the middle of precise measurements.”

D’Artagnan took a step back. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen to the baby.” When Siroc had suggested this idea, he had assured them multiple times that the right combination of herbs would simply make Jacqueline unconscious long enough for them to convince everyone that she was dead, and that it wouldn’t cause any permanent harm. But as an expectant father, d’Artagnan felt he had the right to be paranoid.

Siroc nodded. “I understand. But don’t worry; Jacqueline and the baby will be fine.” He stoppered the flask, placed it on a shelf, and reached for a jar of green powder. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve offered my congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Siroc sprinkled a pinch of the powder into the liquid and stirred. “How long have you known that she’s a woman?” The liquid swirled and turned a pukish shade of green.

“Since the day she showed up,” d’Artagnan answered, wondering where this conversation was heading. “She had a little... ah... wardrobe malfunction.”

Heaven knew what Siroc made of that, because he stopped stirring for a moment, then went at it again with a little more force than necessary. “So it wasn’t intentional?”

D’Artagnan chuckled softly as he remembered Jacqueline desperately clutching a pile of leaves to her chest, her poor brother attempting to preserve what little dignity she had left. How she had rejected his advances, sworn that she’d never want a relationship with someone like him. No, if she had chosen someone to reveal her secrets to, it definitely would not have been d’Artagnan.

“No. She wanted to keep it a secret from everyone. She thought it was safer that way.”

But this wasn’t safe. And for that d’Artagnan could only blame himself. He had pursued the relationship without considering what it might cost the woman he loved. When she told him she was pregnant, she assured him that she didn’t regret their decision. But despite his nervous excitement at the idea of starting a family, he wished they had waited for better circumstances.

She had been safe, and he had put her life in danger once again.

“Excuse me,” he said quietly, and left Siroc’s lab before his friend could see the pain in his eyes.

\----

He hadn’t really meant to chase d’Artagnan out. Although it was probably for the best; Siroc knew he wasn’t always that friendly when he was working.

A drop of a clear liquid, and the solution foamed and began to darken. By the time it had settled, it had turned bluish-black.

Siroc sighed and reached for another flask to try again.

\----

**Chapter 6**

“I’m supposed to _drink_ this?”

Jacqueline held up the vial of green fluid and wrinkled her nose. The color wouldn’t have been so bad if the potion didn’t smell worse than Ramon’s cheese.

Siroc shrugged apologetically. “It’s not that bad... I don’t think.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re not the one who has to drink it.” She wasn’t sure she liked this plan much anymore. Of course, she hadn’t liked it all that much to begin with...

“It should only take a few minutes for the potion to work,” Siroc continued. “It’ll make you unconscious for the next two days.”

Two days. She bit her lip. That was a long time. A long time to be utterly helpless, unable to tell if something went wrong.

“How do I die?” she asked; and, realizing how creepy that sounded, rephrased: “The story, I mean.”

“You were attacked while on a mission,” Ramon explained. “I’m working on composing a rhapsody for your funeral.”

Jacqueline smiled. Ramon seemed to have that effect on people, she’d noticed. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to hear that.”

“I’ll write it down for you,” Ramon promised.

Her own funeral. It was a strange thought. What would people say about her, she wondered? She didn’t have many friends among the Musketeers; Ramon, Siroc, and d’Artagnan were the only ones she was close to. She heard the whispers about her, though. No one really understood her strange behaviors or antisocial tendencies. Probably the only thing keeping them from making fun of her was their respect for her swordsmanship; she had, after all, beaten d’Artagnan at her first try.

D’Artagnan must have noticed the look in her eyes, because he reached out his hand to cup her cheek, meeting her gaze with his own. “It’s all right. I’ll be there when you wake up.” He gently touched his lips to hers. “I love you,” he whispered against her mouth. The kiss deepened, d’Artagnan’s mouth caressing hers as his hands stroked her hair. Jacqueline recalled with ironic amusement that this whole thing had started because of d’Artagnan’s kisses.

Eventually the private little world that all lovers thought they enjoyed was penetrated by Ramon and Siroc’s coughs, executed with varying degrees of subtlety. Reluctantly Jacqueline pulled away.

“Thank you,” she said to Ramon and Siroc. “Thank you for all your help.” She held up the vial. “Wish me luck.”

With that, she raised it to her lips and drank.

Jacqueline grimaced as she forced herself to swallow the bitter potion. It took all of her effort to keep from spitting it back out. But it had taken Siroc nearly two days to get this batch right; it would be counterproductive to make him start over.

True to Siroc’s word, the potion worked quickly. It was only a minute before her vision began to blur and her legs started to give out from under her. D’Artagnan caught her as she fell. “I’ll see you in two days,” she promised him before she slipped into unconsciousness.

\----

**Chapter 7**

Cardinal Mazarin rubbed his temples. His headache was getting worse. He’d hoped the music would be more pleasant once His Royal Majesty broke the drum; but he had simply moved on to a new favorite instrument. At least, that was what the vocal teacher called it. The man was either more tone-deaf than the king or too afraid of the royal wrath to offer anything but praise. Mazarin wondered why Louis couldn’t find a quieter hobby. His Royal Majesty could be a royal pain in the – 

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” a servant interrupted timidly, and Louis stopped singing – or whatever that awful noise was called. 

“What is it?” the boy-king whined. 

“The Musketeers are here to see you.” Thank goodness the man had learned to phrases things in a way that didn’t leave Louis room to crack jokes. Mazarin was growing tired of pretending to laugh. 

Captain Duval entered the chamber, followed by his three favorite Musketeers. At least Mazarin assumed they were, since they got away with everything from picking fights to aiding a would-be assassin. If he controlled the Musketeers, he would enforce some discipline. 

The Musketeers bowed. They looked uncharacteristically solemn, Mazarin thought; from what he had observed before, he hadn’t believed they could be serious about anything. 

“Captain!” Louis greeted, and the Musketeers rose. “Do you have news of the mission?” 

Duval nodded gravely. “We do, Your Majesty. The mission was a success. But the Musketeer Jacques Leponte has been killed.” 

Louis looked shocked. He was so young and naïve. He sent his Musketeers off to fight, but he knew nothing of death. Mazarin might have even felt sorry for the boy’s loss if the dead man wasn’t a cursed Musketeer. 

“He died bravely,” d’Artagnan added, “in the service of his king.” 

Now, wasn’t that precious. 

“But we made a rather startling discovery, Sire,” said Siroc. “Jacques... was really a woman.” 

A woman? 

“What?” Louis exclaimed. 

“That’s not all,” Ramon picked up. “We believe she was a criminal named Jacqueline Roget, wanted for killing one of the Cardinal’s guard.” 

That little sword-wielding bitch! 

“This is an outrage!” Mazarin exploded. “That not only a woman, but a murderess, could so easily join the Musketeers – it just proves my point that they should be disbanded!” 

“The Musketeers serve the King!” d’Artagnan argued angrily. “No matter what Jacqueline may have done, she served the King as well, and to her death! That should count for something.” 

Mazarin narrowed his gaze. Who was this woman, that d’Artagnan defended her so vehemently? 

“D’Artagnan is right,” Louis agreed, and Mazarin struggled to keep his face from revealing his anger. 

“Your Majesty,” he said through gritted teeth, “she was a criminal.” 

Louis’ face fell, and for a moment Mazarin thought he had won; until Louis said, “But she was a Musketeer.” 

The Musketeers were smiling now. Mazarin didn’t know which enraged him more: the fact that they supported this murderess, or the fact that he couldn’t grind them all into dust. 

Louis clapped his hands together in that childish gesture he used so often. “I’ve made a decision. I’m going to pardon Jacqueline Roget.” 

“That’s very noble of you, Your Majesty,” said Captain Duval, but he was looking at the Cardinal. This wasn’t about Jacques Leponte, Mazarin realized; it was about himself and Duval. Duval knew that Mazarin was responsible for his injury. Was accepting the murderer of one of his guards Duval’s way of getting revenge? 

Louis looked pleased with himself. “I thought it was.” 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said d’Artagnan. “Jacques – Jacqueline – I know she would appreciate it.” 

Well, of course she would. So would any criminal. 

“Of course, no one should know except us,” said Louis. Keeping secrets made him feel important, and Mazarin would let him have his fun for now. Anyway, if this got out, it would be an embarrassment to all parties involved. 

D’Artagnan’s face now showed signs of confusion. “Then why...?” 

Louis smiled. “If she’s not a criminal, she can be buried on church ground.” 

Something akin to panic crossed d’Artagnan’s face. It was only there for a moment before it was buried under a false smile; but in that telling moment Mazarin knew that there was something else going on. And he made it his goal to find out what it was.

\----

**Chapter 8**

They had barely made it down the palace steps when Siroc found himself attacked by an angry d’Artagnan. 

“Why did you agree to it?” he demanded. 

Siroc had the good sense not to point out that it was Captain Duval who had finally conceded to the King’s request to hold a funeral and burial; because he was the one who agreed that it was a good idea. Which had led the others to believe that he had a good idea to get them out of this. They’d had a memorial service for Jacqueline already, d’Artagnan had pointed out, but the King insisted that another funeral would do no harm. 

Unless, of course, the corpse woke during the eulogy. 

Two sets of hands pulled d’Artagnan off. “Calm down!” Duval instructed a still-seething d’Artagnan. 

“Siroc knows what he’s doing,” Ramon added, sounding more confident than Siroc was at the moment. To have a life in his hands – two lives, as he remembered the baby – it was a heavy burden, and one he didn’t want to shoulder any longer than he had to. But he certainly didn’t want to be responsible for letting it go. 

He looked at d’Artagnan and saw the pain in his friend’s eyes. He wanted the same thing they all did – to save Jacqueline – only he wanted it a thousand times stronger. 

Siroc glanced over his shoulder. “Not here,” he told the others. “Someone could be listening. I’ll explain when we get back home.” 

Hopefully the ride would be long enough for him to come up with a suitably brilliant plan. 

\---- 

They met in d’Artagnan’s room, despite the fact that it was already occupied by Jacqueline’s unconscious form. Actually, that had been in d’Artagnan’s mind when he suggested it. He didn’t want to leave her alone any longer than he had to. He wasn’t used to Jacqueline being so vulnerable; and now, as he watched their plan fall apart, he felt the same sense of helplessness. 

It was disconcerting for him to look at her, lying there as if in death. Her skin was pale and cold, and her chest was so still that he’d had to hold his cheek above her mouth and feel the soft warm air before he was convinced that she was breathing. In less than a day she would wake; but it would only be the beginning of their problems. 

Siroc took a breath. “I have an idea,” he said. “You’re not going to like it.” 

Probably not; but he didn’t like any of this. 

D’Artagnan forced himself to look away from the bed. It felt like form of abandonment. “Just tell me.” 

“We let the King give the funeral – let me finish,” he said when d’Artagnan opened his mouth to interrupt. “After the burial, we come back at night and dig her up.” 

\---- 

Siroc hadn’t expected the idea to be met with much enthusiasm. On the bright side, d’Artagnan wasn’t attacking him. 

“You want to bury her alive?” Ramon was the first to voice out loud. 

“Based on the amount of air a person needs,” Siroc rushed to explain, “and the decreased amount of air Jacqueline requires in her unconscious state, she’ll be safe in the coffin until then. She shouldn’t even wake up until after we get her out.” 

“Shouldn’t?” asked Duval. 

“Won’t,” Siroc corrected, trying to sound sure of himself. “At least, not if the potion works the way it’s supposed to.” 

“And what if it doesn’t?” d’Artagnan whispered. He seemed to still be in a state of shock. “What if we kill her?” 

“I’m quite confident in my calculations – ” 

“This isn’t one of your experiments, dammit! It’s Jacqueline’s life!” 

Siroc opened his mouth to reply, but found that no words would come. Was d’Artagnan right? Had he been treating the situation as if Jacqueline wasn’t a person, a friend, a friend’s wife? 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I think it’s the best way.” 

It was the only way; because of him. He had dug himself a hole that he couldn’t get out of. Hopefully they wouldn’t do the same thing to Jacqueline. 

\----

**Chapter 9**

It was dark. Too dark to be d’Artagnan’s room; even at night the pale moonlight filtered through the window. She’d always found it terribly romantic. On nights when there was no moon, there was at least a little light from street lamps, enough to make out the familiar outline of her lover sleeping beside her. There was none of that now. For a terrible moment Jacqueline worried that the potion had made her blind. When she reached out her hand, she realized it was much worse. 

There was a wall. A ceiling, a floor, and four walls, all within her reach. 

She was in a coffin. 

She didn’t feel the lack of air until the panic set in, and then it was a weight on her chest, pressing down, preventing her from drawing in a breath. The harder it was, the harder she tried. Her breath came in short, frightened pants, not taking in nearly enough air for her to survive for long. A red stain began to spread before her eyes. At least it was something other than blackness. 

She was going to die in there. 

What had happened? Had they thought that the potion hadn’t worked right, that she was really dead? Were they mourning her death as she suffocated alone in the darkness? 

There was a thump on the outside of the coffin. Someone was there! 

The hope of being rescued gave Jacqueline the energy she needed to answer the thump by pounding her fists on the inside of the coffin lid. She tried to scream, but no sound came from her dry, closing throat. Through the pounding of blood in her head she heard muffled voices, barely recognizable as her friends. 

Ramon: “ _¡Dios mio!_ She’s awake!” 

D’Artagnan: “Hurry up! Get her out of there!” 

The coffin began to move jerkily. Jacqueline’s head smacked against the side. She barely noticed the pain. 

Siroc: “Careful!” 

D’Artagnan: “Forget careful! We need to get her out _now_!” 

She felt herself being placed on solid ground, heard the splintering of wood as the coffin lid was pried open. She gasped as cold night air rushed in. The red before her eyes faded, replaced by gentle moonlight and d’Artagnan’s face. 

He pulled her up into his arms, felt her racing heartbeat, her lungs gasping for air. “She’s breathing!” he said with relief. 

“You – you p-promised,” she stammered through shuddering breaths. “You promised you’d b-be there when I w-woke up!” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” And held her until the rising sun painted the sky blood-red and at least her breathing was calm. 

\----

**Chapter 10**

Aside from an understandable avoidance of small spaces, Jacqueline seemed to have recovered from the whole ordeal. Siroc had apologized profusely for about a week afterwards, until Jacqueline had threatened to run him through with her sword if he mentioned it again. Knowing better than to bother a pregnant woman, he didn’t.

She was about four months along now, Siroc surmised, and her stomach was beginning to show signs of her pregnancy. She couldn’t have passed as Jacques much longer even if she wanted to. But after a month of being cooped up inside her room, she was beginning to show signs of cabin fever. Or at least he assumed that was why she attacked him when he brought her her dinner.

Actually, she attacked the food first. “The baby gets hungry,” she had explained the first time he brought her a meal. Duval had set up a rotating schedule for the four of them to eat meals of her in an attempt to keep her from getting bored and lonely without raising too much suspicion as to what was going on in that locked room. Apparently, it wasn’t quite as successful as the Captain had hoped.

“Do you know how frustrating it is not to be able to wield a sword?” Jacqueline asked between bites. “By the time the baby’s born, I’ll be so out of practice that I’ll be a disgrace to the Musketeers!”

That caught Siroc’s attention. “I didn’t know you were... planning to continue in the Musketeers,” he phrased carefully. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect Jacqueline for the good fighter she was; but she was a parent now, one whom – he assumed – held d’Artagnan’s view that parenthood should come before the Musketeers. If she forgot that, all their efforts to save her life would be pointless.

“Of course not,” Jacqueline replied in a tone that meant, _At least, not right now._ “But I’ve been fighting ever since I was old enough to hold a sword. This” – she held up her sword arm – “feels empty.”

Siroc understood. He felt the same way without a notebook in his hand, waiting to be filled with his ideas and observations. And if someone ever took his laboratory away... it wasn’t a loss he cared to consider.

“If there’s anything I can do to help...”

So technically it was his fault; he had offered. He realized he should have been less open-ended when he saw her, sword in hand, poised to attack.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He took a step back in surprise. Jacqueline was usually a more rational person than this. “What are you doing? The baby – ”

“Will be fine. The midwife said that mild exercise was all right, remember?”

Siroc remembered; he was the one who had spoken to the midwife. They had decided it was better for him to inquire as one herbalist to another than for d’Artagnan the notorious philanderer to start wondering how babies were made.

Speaking of d’Artagnan...

“What about your husband?”

Jacqueline snorted impatiently. “If you think I need anyone’s permission to fight, you obviously don’t know me well enough. Now, are you going to draw your sword or not?”

Well, she wasn’t exactly giving him much of a choice in the matter. He pulled out his sword.

“The room’s a bit small, don’t you think?” he observed. Not that they could exactly move to open surroundings.

She nodded. “Don’t break anything. _En garde!_ ”

He could tell she was a bit rusty; ordinarily he wouldn’t stand a chance against her in a duel. He was a competent fighter, but that wasn’t much use against ability like hers or d’Artagnan’s. The atrophy of her fighting skills apparently angered Jacqueline, because she came at him with more force that was strictly necessary, especially in such tight quarters. Their swords clashed. Siroc jumped up on the bed to avoid her, but she followed. He blocked her wild thrusts, obviously paying more attention than she to her rule about not breaking anything. Which was rendered moot anyway when the bed gave one last groan and collapsed.

Somehow Siroc managed to drop his sword and catch Jacqueline before he lost his balance. He winced as he landed on his back and Jacqueline landed on his stomach. That was going to hurt tomorrow.

“You think anyone heard that?” Jacqueline whispered into the silence that followed the ear-splitting crash.

The question was answered a moment later when the door burst open and d’Artagnan demanded:

“What the hell is going on?”

\----

**Chapter 11**

There was nothing for Jacqueline to do but give a wide smile. “Hi, honey. We weren’t expecting you.”

“I can see that.” His expression was stony.

For the first time, Jacqueline looked at Siroc and the broken bed and realized how the scene looked. And then at d’Artagnan again. He didn’t think she - ? With Siroc - ? She quickly removed his arm from around her waist.

Siroc turned beet red and tried to wiggle his way out from under her. He succeeded in standing up, and reached out a hand to help Jacqueline do the same. She was only halfway up when d’Artagnan snatched her away.

“Get your hands off my wife!”

“D’Artagnan! What’s gotten into you?” Jacqueline demanded as she tried to catch her balance. Balance, she had discovered, was one of the first things to go. Right after the ability to eat breakfast without vomiting.

“What’s gotten into you?” he shot back.

Jacqueline blushed angrily and opened her mouth for an explanation, then realized that he wouldn’t like the explanation much either. Although it didn’t take long to decide that out of the two options, his pregnant wife swordfighting indoors was probably the lesser of two evils. She was about to say so when Siroc gave his own explanation.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Jacqueline. “D’Artagnan, I can explain all this. Siroc, maybe you should go.” She didn’t really want her friend around to witness the lecture d’Artagnan would give her. Truthfully, she didn’t really want to be around to witness it either.

“No, Siroc, you should stay.” D’Artagnan took a threatening step towards Siroc, and Jacqueline realized too late that she’d only made it look like they were hiding something. “Why don’t you tell me what you were doing in bed with my wife?”

This was going to a bad place very quickly, and she needed to stop it before it got there. Unfortunately, it seemed the conversation was rapidly passing the point of no return.

“I wasn’t in bed with her,” Siroc said, which only made it worse.

“Really?”

“We were dueling,” Jacqueline said. Even though it was the truth, the explanation seemed weak.

“Is _that_ what you call it?” In any other circumstance, she knew d’Artagnan would be amused by the abundance of double entendre. She had to admit it was almost a funny story, if not for the horrible ending it was careening towards... “Then keep your sword where it belongs.”

“D’Artagnan!” she shouted for attention, and proceeded to cram a full explanation into a time frame of about ten seconds: “I challenged him to a sword fight, it was stupid and he said we would break something and he was right, but I was so bored in here... It was stupid,” she finished.

D’Artagnan stared. “You were what?” As his mind caught up to her rapid-fire speech, his expression changed to one of horror. “Jacqueline, what were you thinking? You could have hurt the baby!”

“The baby’s fine.”

“How do you know? It was irresponsible - ”

“I don’t need a lecture,” she said coldly.

Siroc coughed uncomfortably. “I... should probably go.”

Jacqueline wasn’t finished yet. “And I can’t believe you thought Siroc and I were - ”

“Well, that’s what it looked like.” He’d raised his voice to match hers.

She was about to yell back when she realized that a shouting match wouldn’t accomplish much besides alerting everyone to her presence. On the other hand, it would probably make her feel better...

She took a deep breath. “Get out,” she ordered. “Both of you.”

“Jacqueline - ” d’Artagnan began.

“Out!”

They got out. Jacqueline sat down on her collapsed bed and cried.

\---

**Chapter 12**

Ramon was finishing up his dinner when d’Artagnan returned, looking upset and with an embarrassed Siroc in tow.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” d’Artagnan demanded.

“She doesn’t exactly listen,” Siroc grumbled back.

Now, _this_ should be interesting. “What did I miss?”

Neither d’Artagnan nor Siroc seemed particularly eager to share, but with a bit of prodding Ramon was able to ascertain exactly why Jacqueline wouldn’t be speaking to either of them in the near future. And though he knew one shouldn’t take advantage of others’ misfortunes, Ramon couldn’t help himself.

He burst out laughing.

“It’s not _that_ funny,” d’Artagnan said, looking cross.

“Well, you have to admit – ” Siroc began, but withered under d’Artagnan’s glare.

“Give it time, amigo,” Ramon advised. “She will come around. Women always do.”

Of course, most women weren’t in relationships as – what was the word? – _unique_ as this one. It had been a month since he found out Jacques was a woman, and he still wasn’t quite used to the idea. And now, with Jacqueline in hiding and awaiting the next step of Siroc’s plan, the craziness was multiplying. It was only a matter of time before it overtook them all like a plague.

“Maybe I should go talk to her,” Siroc said.

“No, I should go,” Ramon volunteered, even though it was crazy.

“Are you sure?” d’Artagnan asked, his tone implying that he agreed with Ramon’s assessment of the situation.

Ramon grinned. “I’m the only one of us she doesn’t want to kill.”

\---

Jacqueline wasn’t planning on answering the knock at the door. Even though it was Ramon, and she wasn’t upset with him. Yet. But then she smelled the cheese.

She yanked the door open. “Is that val de bleu?”

Ramon held up the cheese-laden bread and shrugged apologetically. “I got hungry.” His eyes widened with surprise when she grabbed the loaf out of his hands and took a big bite. “I thought you hated val de bleu?”

Jacqueline nodded and answered with her mouth full. “It’s the most revolting thing I’ve ever tasted.”

She sympathized when his brow wrinkled in confusion. She didn’t really understand the cravings either. But what the baby wanted, the baby got.

Until the baby was older and wanted a normal family instead of a mother who lived in hiding and had swordfights on beds and a father who accused her of having affairs... Nope, normal didn’t seem very likely anytime soon.

A knot in her stomach that wasn’t the baby’s fault reminded her that worrisome thoughts and eating didn’t go together. She shoved the remainder of the bread at Ramon, who blinked, no less confused, but accepted the offering gratefully. He took a bite.

“D’Artagnan and Siroc told me about what happened,” he said after he’d swallowed.

Of course he didn’t drop by just so she could steal his smelly cheese. “What about it?”

“D’Artagnan wanted to apologize.” Her look must have spoken for itself, because he continued: “Don’t act so surprised. We both know he can be an ass sometimes, but he’s a good husband.”

That was the surprising part, actually. How much he’d changed. How much he really loved her. How this was their first real fight. Yes, there’d been teasing before, but teasing was teasing. This was shouting and accusations and hurt feelings all around. She almost didn’t want to talk to him even if he _did_ apologize. But there was no use holding grudges. Especially in such close quarters.

“I’ll talk to him. I probably owe an apology, too.” It wouldn’t make everything all better. But it was a start.

\---

As Ramon expected, Siroc and d’Artagnan were waiting in the hall. “Is it safe?” d’Artagnan asked.

“She wants to speak with you,” said Ramon. “I told her you wanted to apologize.”

“I – what?”

“You _did_ accuse her.”

“She started it!”

A pause. They both looked at him in amusement.

“All right.”

D’Artagnan knocked on the door.

\---

**Chapter 13**

“We’ll have to redo it every month or so,” said Siroc. “Just to cover the roots. But it should – ” He turned to see Jacqueline staring into the mirror, admiring her now-golden hair, and paying no attention at all to what he was saying. He came up behind her. “Do you like it?”

She smiled at him in the mirror. “It’s perfect,” she said, and gave him a peck on the cheek, from which it took him a moment to recover. Jacques would have given him a handshake, or made some other awkward attempt to be male. Siroc was still getting used to Jacqueline’s more feminine interactions, especially juxtaposed with her attempts to engage him in swordfights behind d’Artagnan’s back just a few weeks before. Jacqueline as a woman, Jacqueline and d’Artagnan as husband and wife, starting a family – it was a lot to get used to at once. He’d busied himself planning for Jacqueline’s future freedom, making hair dye and baby carriers and hoping the whole thing wasn’t too insane to work; but he couldn’t help but notice that it had been less for his friends and more for his own distraction. He didn’t want to think about the way Jacqueline and d’Artagnan were growing closer to each other and farther away from him.

“Have you thought of trying to market this stuff?” Jacqueline asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Not a bad idea,” he said. “If people could easily change the color of their hair, they wouldn’t need expensive wigs.”

“A little money to fund your inventions wouldn’t hurt, either,” said Jacqueline with a smile. No doubt she was remembering the affair with the diamonds. It wasn’t his fault that crushing them was the only way to tell if they were real.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “Ready to go out into the world?”

Her smile faltered for a second before she put on an air of confidence that only those who knew her would be able to see through. “Of course. Our stories are all set. My name is Marie d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan and I married in secret because my father wouldn’t approve. I was born in...” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her pretense. “No, I’m not ready. Siroc, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You’ve been doing it for the past year,” Siroc pointed out, not unkindly.

Jacqueline sighed. “That’s just the point. I’m tired of hiding. I just want to be Jacqueline again.”

She wasn’t alone in yearning for a past that could never be recovered. But he knew living in the past wouldn’t do anything to help the future.

“Things can’t stay the same forever. If you never change, you never grow.”

“I think I’m growing quite enough,” said Jacqueline with a glance at her stomach.

They stared at each other for a long moment; then they began to laugh. The laughter grew until they were holding their sides and gasping for air and grasping the counter for support. And it didn’t matter that Jacqueline didn’t treat him the way Jacques would have. Change was good.

\---

**Chapter 14**

Jacqueline was dimly aware of the whispers following them as she and d’Artagnan walked down the street. There were too many to make out the individual voices; the murmurs had bled together into a white noise which lay like a fog over her thoughts. All this seemed so surreal, like she’d wake up any minute and be Jacqueline again. Or even Jacques would do. Anything but Marie, with the blond hair and the pregnant belly and the shy demeanor that had suddenly overcome her. She clung to her husband’s arm not to play the part of weak femininity, but because she was genuinely unsure of herself. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long time; and it wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed.

“This way, dear,” d’Artagnan said, his voice a bit too loud. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the Café Nouveau.”

They walked through the door, and every conversation stopped. Jacqueline could feel all the eyes in the room focusing on her. She was afraid to look out the front window, certain that a crowd was forming, peering in, as if she were an exotic animal in a cage.

When they found a table, the conversation started back up again, slowly, uncertainly, the patrons still watching out of the corners of their eyes.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” said Jacqueline.

D’Artagnan reached across the table and took her hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.” He stood abruptly. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Jacqueline watched him leave. _What, you think I can’t get my own coffee?_ she would have said a few months ago. Some good-natured teasing would ensue. But Jacqueline was changing. She was becoming the thing she had pretended to be.

“I know how you feel.”

Jacqueline looked up. A young woman – her own age, perhaps a bit younger – had sat down on the other side of the table. Her hair was black, her dress simple, and she wore a friendly smile.

“Salina Beaumont,” she introduced. “And you’re d’Artagnan’s wife. Marie, is it?”

Jacqueline nodded. “Word certainly gets around.”

Salina’s smile widened. “Doesn’t it? I’m sorry; you must feel like an exhibit in a menagerie, poor thing. It’s just that everyone’s so shocked that d’Artagnan would ever get married.”

“He’s changed a lot.” _We all have._

“Well, I know a bit of what it’s like to be the wife of a Musketeer. Let me know if you need anything; I’d be happy to help.”

The smile was contagious; Jacqueline felt the corners of her mouth lifting as if they had a life of their own. She hadn’t realized how much she missed talking to another woman as a woman. It was something she couldn’t have as Jacques. Or even as Jacqueline; on her family’s farm, they had little contact with other people, and so her brother was her only close companion. Maybe there was something to be said for Marie after all.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it,” said Salina. “Now, I really must be going, but perhaps we could meet again? Tomorrow? Thursday? Don’t you worry about it – I’ll find you. See you later, then.”

“Goodbye,” said Jacqueline.

D’Artagnan returned with the coffee just in time to see Salina leave. “Who was that?” he asked.

Jacqueline smiled. “A friend.”

\---

**Chapter 15**

"I'm still not quite used to being a woman," Jacqueline confessed to Saline one day over coffee. It wasn't anything she could say to Ramon or Siroc, or even d'Artagnan. Bt thought she had met Salina only a month ago, she felt a connection that was different than that with her male friends. She could tell Salina anything.

Anything but her deepest secret.

"How do you mean?" asked Salina, sipping her coffee. A waiter came over to offer a refill, and she flashed him a smile that made him almost drop the coffeepot.

"Like that," said Jacqueline when the waiter had left. "I've always – " She paused. "This might be a long story."

"I'm not doing anything this afternoon."

"I grew up on a farm," Jacqueline began. "It was only my father, my brother and I. No one lived close by, so I never had any female friends. When my brother and I played, we had swordfights, pretended to be Musketeers. I was always... one of the guys."

Salina gave a wry smile. "I suppose it's different now."

Jacqueline nodded. "It's strange. A woman, a wife, a mother, all at once..." She laughed. "It's a lot."

"It explains a lot," said Salina. "Why d'Artagnan was attracted to you. You were different than most women. You still are."

"Is that a good thing?" Jacqueline wasn't sure. She'd always thought it was. But that was before she'd had to go into hiding again. She was no longer a man, but she was still pretending. Somehow being Marie d'Artagnan was harder than being Jacques Leponte.

Salina took her hand reassuringly. "It is."

\---

"Please tell me you've discovered something _important_ this time," said Mazarin, barely looking up from what he was writing at his desk.

"I have," said Salina.

"What?" he prompted after a few seconds of silence. Lackeys. Useless, all of them. Hopelessly stupid, always getting themselves killed. If only he could do everything himself –

"Marie d'Artagnan is Jacqueline Roget."

That got his attention. "That's impossible. Roget is dead."

"Are you sure about that?"

Mazarin added "insolent" to the list of faults. "I saw her buried."

"Did you make sure she was still there?"

"Keep in mind that I don't have to deal with you any longer than I wish."

Salina smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Keep in mind, Cardinal, that I know her better than you do. I _am_ her friend."

Mazarin returned the not-quite-smile. He had patented the expression, after all.

"Obviously not," he said.

\---

He wanted to ignore Salina's report, to believe that the Musketeers hadn't fooled him so easily. But he knew his spy; knew that her conclusion was based on more than women's intuition.

When he dug up the empty grave, he knew for certain. They were laughing at him behind his back, hiding a criminal in plain sight. He wasn't going to tolerate them any longer. He was going to deal with the Musketeers, once and for all. And when he was finished, there would be no one left to oppose him.

\---

**Chapter 16**

Jacqueline had just finished convincing herself that everything would work out when Ramon and Siroc burst into the bedroom.

"We have to get you two out of here," said Siroc.

"What's going on?" asked d'Artagnan, but Ramon was already shoving them out the door.

"Cardinal Mazarin knows about Jacqueline," he said.

"How?" Jacqueline asked. _And why now, after all this time? The baby's almost due. Dear God, if it had to happen, did it have to happen now?_

"We don't know," said Ramon.

But then, it really didn't matter, did it? It still had the same effect.

"Captain Duval's holding off the guards," said Siroc, "but we don't have much time."

"Time for what?" asked d'Artagnan. "Where are we supposed to go?"

"You're going to hide in the back of the haycart. Ramon will have another cart as a decoy, so hopefully most of the guards will follow him. I'll take you to the harbor. You can get on a ship to the Americas."

He opened the door to his lab. "I'm sorry," he said. "This is all my fault. I should have come up with a better plan."

Jacqueline shook her head. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. I always knew I couldn't hide forever." But was running really any better?

D'Artagnan took her hand. "We'll find a way to live," he said. But she could tell that he was just as scared of the future as she.

She remembered when d'Artagnan had asked her to leave with him and the baby. She'd said no. She couldn't leave the Musketeers; she had to stay and fight for France. Things were different now. She could hardly take care of their child or fight Cardinal Mazarin if she were dead. But that didn't mean she liked it. That didn't mean she wanted to leave.

Ramon embraced her. "Goodbye, _campañera_ ," he said, and Jacqueline could swear she saw the hint of a tear in his eye. Then Ramon's arms were replaced by Siroc's.

"Fight for France for me," she told both of them. She knew they would fight anyway. This only gave them reason to fight harder.

"God go with you," said Ramon, and went outside. She heard the horse gallop away, the cart rolling after it, followed by the stampede that was the Cardinal's guards taking the bait.

"Come on," Siroc told them. They followed him to the haycart. There was hardly a guard around. But they would renew their pursuit once they caught up with Ramon and discovered that she wasn't there.

Jacqueline took what she knew would be her last sight of Paris. Then d'Artagnan helped her into the back of the cart and Siroc covered them with a blanket, shutting off the light.

\---

**Chapter 17**

D’Artagnan felt the cart rattle over dirt and stones. He couldn’t see where they were going. It didn’t really matter, as long as they were getting away. He clasped Jacqueline’s hand in the dark.

“I never wanted it to be this way,” he said. “If I had known this would happen, I never would have asked you to marry me.”

He knew she would never have chosen this. He’d asked her before. France was more than her home; it was her love, even before him. She’d said she couldn’t hide forever. But she might have been happier if she’d tried.

 _He_ wouldn’t have been happier. But that didn’t matter.

He moved closer, and realized that her breaths were coming sharper, faster than normal. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Not really,” Jacqueline said shakily, trying to laugh but failing. “I’m not all that fond of small, dark spaces.”

Of course not. And that was his fault. This was painful enough for her, without –

Jacqueline let out a sharp cry.

“What is it?”

“It’s the baby,” she managed between panicked breaths.

No. Not now.

D’Artagnan lifted up the corner of the blanket. “Siroc!” he shouted. “How much longer?”

“A few more hours!” Siroc shouted back. “You two hang in there!”

“Jacqueline’s going to have the baby!”

Siroc stopped the cart.

D’Artagnan threw the blanket off of them and helped Jacqueline sit up. Sunlight shone down on them through the leaves of the forest trees, and shadows danced upon her face. Siroc jumped down from his seat and grasped hold of Jacqueline’s other hand.

“Take deep breaths,” he instructed.

“I’m trying!” she said through gritted teeth.

They couldn’t afford to stop, d’Artagnan knew. They would lose too much time. If the Cardinal’s guards found their trail, they would be helpless – just like their baby, who picked the most inopportune time to be born...

Jacqueline cried out again. “It hurts!”

He couldn’t take her pain. He’d never be able to. He could only ever hold her hand and help her run.

\---

Through the haze of pain, Jacqueline felt Siroc and d’Artagnan move the cart further into the forest. Hopefully moving off the path would give them a little time. But they couldn’t hide there forever. Sooner or later, the guards would realize they’d stopped. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to leave, she thought. Maybe it was her fate to die in France.

She couldn’t think that way. Not now that she had a child to live for. She wondered if that baby would ever be able to replace France in her heart.

It grew dark. They couldn’t afford a fire, for fear of discovery, so d’Artagnan and Siroc huddled around her to share their warmth. The contractions were stronger and closer together. Couldn’t they just be over?

Once she cried out and d’Artagnan clasped a hand over her mouth. She heard the thundering of hoofbeats passing by, and then the forest was still. Would they realize their error and come back?

But then Siroc was telling her to push, and she was screaming, and the pain was almost unbearable, until suddenly it was gone and d’Artagnan was laying their child in her arms.

“Our daughter,” he said, and kissed her. In that moment she knew that Mazarin had lost. In the pale light of the new sunrise, she looked down and saw their child’s tiny face.

Jacqueline smiled. “She’s beautiful.”

_-fin-_


	2. How to Keep a Secret (d'Artagnan/Jacqueline PWP, E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacqueline and d’Artagnan get married and have sex. Prequel to "Choices & Consequences," which was based on the premise that Jacqueline and d’Artagnan had married in secret, but you don't have to read one to understand the other. Originally posted to LiveJournal in 2007. ~2000 words.
> 
> Rating: E  
> Pairing: d'Artagnan/Jacqueline  
> Tags: secret marriage, romance, pwp, virginity loss, piv sex

She remembered the first time he had kissed her.

It was sudden and unexpected, and she savored every moment of it. When their lips finally parted, she gazed up at him through hazy eyes.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“Oh, good,” he said with his trademark smirk. “I was half expecting you to slap me.”

“I still could,” she replied, but he took the threat for the half-hearted thing it was and kissed her again. This time his tongue caressed hers, gentle and undemanding. The feeling was strange but wonderful. She’d never been kissed before. She’d imagined what d’Artagnan’s mouth would feel like against hers, but she never realized the feeling could be so strong, sending pangs of arousal further down her body to places that yearned to be touched for the first time. She kissed him back with a passion that almost surprised her until finally they had to part for air.

Her heart raced. Perhaps part of it was the fear of discovery. She was supposed to be a man; if someone found the two of them together in d’Artagnan’s room, it would probably call her cover into question. At that very moment she decided that it didn’t matter. She wanted him so badly. That thought frightened her.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do that,” he whispered as he held her close to him.

“Why haven’t you?” she asked, looking up into his eyes. He looked so beautiful, so sincere. He’d changed since she first met him. He was so cocky and self-assured, convinced that he could charm her into his bed merely by the fact that he was d’Artagnan. Perhaps for the first time, he’d found more than a wench to warm his bed; he’d found someone to love. She suspected that surprised him as much as it did her, and as much as it surprised her that she loved him in return.

“I didn’t want to push you away,” he said. And, quieter, “I realized that I love you.”

She hugged him tighter and smiled into his shoulder. “I love you, too. Against my better judgment.”

He laughed. “People change, you know.”

She nodded. “I know.” And she kissed him again, just to prove that she’d learned.

* * *

The first time he’d tried to go farther, she’d stopped him and pulled his hand away.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked gently, and she was grateful that he didn’t try to push the issue. She loved him, she wanted him, and she didn’t think she could say no a second time.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was ready to let the truth out.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“It only hurts a little the first time,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding.

“No,” she said. “I’m scared of you. I know you love me, and I love you…”

“But a man can never escape his past,” he said, his face showing his hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But before we get any deeper in this, I just need to know… that you’ll never leave me.”

He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’ll never leave you,” he said. “I promise.”

She wasn’t sure if that was enough.

He sensed her hesitation and tried a different tack.

“Marry me,” he said.

 _He’d say anything to get under my skirt,_ was her first thought. _In my pants,_ was the second, as the occasions for her to show her feminine side were few and far between. But she knew that was unfair. He had changed. And this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? A commitment. A real promise that he’d always be by her side.

“Give me some time to think,” she said. She kissed him briefly before sneaking out his window, leaving the same way she had come.

* * *

She avoided him the next day, and the day after that. It was all so complicated. They could never be together as they should, not while she was still in hiding. A secret wedding, a secret marriage; how long could they keep up the ruse? Someone was sure to discover them eventually. She hoped that by that time she would be safe. Everything would work out. It had to. She loved him.

At night she prayed for guidance, for some sign that she was about to make the right choice. The only sign she received was the persistent voice inside her that told her to follow her heart. Perhaps that was enough.

She snuck in through his window late at night. He was already asleep, but she crawled in beside him and kissed him lightly on the mouth. He muttered something softly, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Jacqueline?” he asked.

“Who else?” she said, and kissed him again. “Let’s get married.”

He jumped out of bed, fully awake, and pulled her to the window. “Let’s go find a priest.”

* * *

The priest hadn’t been too excited to be woken in the middle of the night, but he proved sympathetic to the plight of young lovers trying to do the right thing. He also seemed to suspect that something was going on, something more than they were telling him, but he didn’t ask too many questions. Jacqueline was grateful that there were still good people in the world.

They had held hands and said their vows before an empty church. It all seemed so dreamlike to her, as if it couldn’t really be happening. Her stomach did flip-flops, but when she spoke her voice was steady. She wanted this as much as he did. It was a wonderful feeling. When they kissed she had to close her eyes to keep the tears from escaping. After all the things that had happened to her, something this perfect couldn’t be anything more than a fantasy.

But now here they were, standing beside her bed, and somehow it was all real. She felt the heat of his body through their clothing, the gentle caress of his hand at the small of her back, the softness of his lips against hers, the rasp of day-old stubble against her chin. The heat pooling between her legs. It was all so new and exciting—and all so nerve-wracking. But she trusted him completely. That was what love was supposed to be about.

He trailed his lips down her neck, and she whimpered at the unexpected pleasure that she found at that touch. “Be careful,” he whispered, grazing his teeth against her earlobe. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear you crying out.”

“Let them hear,” she whispered back between panting breaths. “Maybe if they think I’ve got a woman in here, they’ll stop being so suspicious about me.”

He smiled. “Not a bad plan at all.”

His hands strayed to pull her shirt out of her pants and then over her head. She helped him unwind the cloth she used to hold her breasts flat. She gasped as his hands cupped them, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “It’s a pity you have to keep them hidden.”

“It’s a bit of a giveaway, seeing as not many men have—oh!” Her knees grew weak as he assaulted her breasts with hands and lips and tongue. They collapsed onto the bed, where she lay beneath him, gasping and writhing in pleasure. His kisses grew lower, down her flat stomach, and he struggled to pull off her pants. His mouth and hands caressed her hips, her thighs, and when they moved between her legs she cried out more loudly than she had intended. He looked up at her with a smirk.

“You must be a marvelous lover, Monsieur Leponte.”

“That’s Madame d’Artagnan to you,” she said, and reached down to pull off his shirt.

She had learned from his caresses, and, pushing him down to the bed, took her turn. She found the spot on his neck that made him moan when she sucked it, and discovered that his nipples, while not as sensitive as hers, still garnered a reaction when licked. She kissed all over his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his face. 

When she finally returned to his mouth, he gave her a look that said he could wait no more. “Jacqueline, please,” he whispered. He seemed so vulnerable. She had made him that way.

She pulled off his pants, and he let out a groan as his arousal sprung free. It wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Men weren’t careful to keep their modesty around her—she was supposed to be one of them, after all—and so she had seen a few men’s privates before as they relieved themselves, and learned not to look shocked at the sight. But they had been hanging down, not standing proud and tall. She knew that sex involved the man being inside her, and suddenly wondered why she hadn’t realized the logistics of that before.

He jerked when she wrapped her hand around it, hips bucking involuntarily. He grasped her hips and pulled her up so that she was positioned over him. She looked into his eyes with uncertainty, hoping he would guide her further.

“Lower yourself onto me,” he told her, guiding himself to her entrance. The tip of his hardness rubbed against her in the most delicious way. “Go as slow as you—”

She impaled herself with one thrust, stilling the breath in his throat.

“—or you could do that,” he gasped when he was finally able.

She felt nothing but a mild discomfort from muscles not used to being stretched. Where were those sensations she had felt before? Weren’t they supposed to increase once they were joined like this?

“What do I do now?” she asked.

His hands guided her hips, showing her how to move in rhythm, up and down. As the friction built she began to understand. His thrusts hit sensitive places that she never knew existed. As she felt herself draw to her peak, he brought his fingers to the place where they were joined, and she screamed out her release. As he felt her muscles contract around him, he took complete control, speeding up his thrusts until he shuddered and then was still.

She lay on top of him, head resting on his shoulder, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

“I love you,” he whispered, once their power of speech had returned.

“I love you, too,” she said, and drifted to sleep in his arms.

* * *

She woke a few hours later, before it was light. She reached over for d’Artagnan, and sat up suddenly when she realized he was gone. He couldn’t be gone...

“I’m right here,” he said. “Don’t worry.” He stood, half-dressed, at the foot of the bed, and climbed back in to hold her.

“I thought you had left me,” she said. She was being paranoid, she knew. He loved her. They would never be apart now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hugging her tightly to him. “I didn’t want to wake you. But I should be heading back to my room. Wouldn’t want people getting suspicious.”

“Stay,” she said, and held him when he tried to get up. “Just for a little while longer. If anyone sees you going in, they’ll just assume you were out all night.”

“All right,” he said, and when he kissed her they both felt the hunger returning, and wondered why he’d bothered to put on his clothes.

* * *

She was, she hoped, only slightly disheveled as she made her way the Café for breakfast. But she couldn’t stifle a yawn as she sat down at the table.

“Late night?” asked Siroc.

“Not particularly,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “Why?”

“We thought we heard a little something,” said Ramon, trying to play innocent and failing terribly.

Her gaze turned to d’Artagnan, who winked. Slowly her mouth curved upward into what she hoped wasn’t too feminine of a smile. Ramon let out a loud laugh.

“That’s my boy,” he said, and snapped his fingers. “Waitress! A coffee for my friend here, _por favor._ ”

Perhaps the secret wouldn’t be too hard to keep, after all.

_-fin-_


	3. Tease (d'Artagnan/Jacqueline PWP, E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to "How to Keep a Secret," but you don't need to read that to understand this. Originally posted to LiveJournal in 2007. ~1800 words.
> 
> Rating: E  
> Pairing: d'Artagnan/Jacqueline  
> Tags: pwp, secret relationship, sex in water, piv sex, oral sex

“That’s a wonderful rhyme, don’t you think?”

“Of course, Ramon,” said d’Artagnan absently, sipping his coffee.

“You could at least listen,” mumbled Jacqueline from her seat next to her husband.

“What was that?” asked Ramon from across the table.

“I said it was very nice,” said Jacqueline, quickly changing the subject: “Do you think they’ve been making the coffee differently these past few weeks?”

Siroc frowned thoughtfully into his drink and then at Ramon’s on the table next to him. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“Maybe you should study it more closely,” suggested d’Artagnan.

“But what rhymes with coffee?” asked Ramon. He took a sip out of his own cup.

“Toffee?” Siroc offered.

“That’s terrible,” said Ramon.

Jacqueline shrugged. “I liked it.”

Ramon shook his head. “Not the rhyme; the coffee. It’s no good cold. Excuse me, _señorita_!”

D’Artagnan smirked. “If you stopped rhapsodizing long enough to drink it…”

Ramon scoffed. “What’s dinner without rhapsodizing?” he asked as the waitress brought him a new, steaming-hot coffee.

Jacqueline took a bite of her bread. “Don’t mind him, Ramon. He just can’t appreciate good talent.”

“Aha!” Siroc exclaimed, looking up from his papers. “I think I’ve figured out the error in my sub-aquatic chamber!”

D’Artagnan craned his neck to see the drawing. “What is i—” And then gave a startled yelp, his knees banging the underside of the table.

The others looked up in alarm.

“Oh, I see it!” he covered quickly, studying the drawing. “How did y—” He swallowed abruptly. “How did you figure it out?”

“As we figured out before, the original design couldn’t withstand the water pressure,” he explained. “As the material I used was the ideal for such a ship, I knew that it must be the shape of the vessel itself. _This_ ”—he finished up a few pen strokes—“seems to be the ideal design.”

He turned the design around for all three curious friends to see. Jacqueline leaned in closer. D’Artagnan stifled an undignified squeak.

“It looks the same to me,” said Jacqueline.

He pointed with his pen. “Don’t you see the different contours?”

Ramon shook his head. Jacqueline raised her eyebrows. D’Artagnan got up from the table.

“I really ought to be going,” he said, seeming unusually distracted. “But I’ll see you all bright and early in the morning.” He gave a short laugh before turning and practically running out.

“Is it just me, or has he been acting very strange lately?” asked Ramon.

“It’s not just you,” said Jacqueline, lifting her hand up from under the table. “I’d better go make sure he’s all right.” She downed the last of her bread and coffee and then got up to follow him.

“Actually, they’ve both been acting strangely these past few weeks,” said Siroc.

“You think so?” asked Ramon.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say…”

“Say what?”

Siroc shook his head. “Never mind.”

* * *

Jacqueline had hardly set foot outside the Café when d’Artagnan grabbed her arm and pulled her aside.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he hissed.

She grinned. “It’ll be a pleasant death, I’m sure.”

He groaned. “This is madness, you know. We can’t be seen together like this.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ve got a special spot in mind…”

* * *

The sky was dark by the time they reached their destination. It was, thank goodness, fairly secluded. He’d always liked it for that reason.

“Someone showed me this place once,” she said as she got off her horse. “It seemed like such a nice spot for—”

“Fucking?” he suggested as he dismounted.

Her eyes widened at his language. “I was going to say bathing!” she said in an admonishing tone.

He laughed. “Right. That’s what you were thinking about when you touched me like that under the table.”

“What, like this?”

He hissed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Go swimming.” She smiled and began divesting herself of her clothes.

If their few short weeks of marriage had taught her anything, it was how to drive her husband crazy—and she continued to come up with novel ways to perform this task. She was limited, of course, by the fact that their relationship must remain secret, but this was still new and exciting and so the inevitable stress had not yet set in.

And she was content to ignore it for as long as possible. No relationship could be perfect, she knew, but maybe they could play at perfection for at least a little while.

She lowered her naked body into the water and was reminded of how warm and wonderful it felt. The last time she’d been here, she’d scorned d’Artagnan’s advances. Now she was the one who brought him here, and as his wife. Sometimes she couldn’t make sense of it herself. But one way or another, she had fallen in love.

She heard a soft splash as he entered the pool behind her, and then he wrapped his arms around her. She felt his hardness twitch against the small of her back and shuddered with anticipation. She trailed her hands down his sides and leaned back her head to nibble on his neck. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. Even in the dark, she could see the heat in his eyes.

“No more teasing,” he said, and kissed her hard. He held her tightly against his chest, and she knew that he didn’t want to lose this perfection, either. He brushed his tongue against her lower lip, and she pushed away the thoughts that this couldn’t last. His hands caressed her back, trailing up and down her spine and making her shiver, until they lowered to her buttocks, pulling her closer, pressing her against him in a way that made her gasp.

Their bodies hit the water with enough force to nearly drive them under. Jacqueline shook her wet hair out of her face and laughed, climbing on top of d’Artagnan as he struggled to regain his footing. The water wasn’t deep; when he sat on the bottom, his head and shoulders were still visible. His wet hair caressing his shoulders… She smiled at the memory as she drank in the sight of him.

“I love you,” she said.

She kissed him again, felt the warmth of the water and of his body as she melted into his embrace. She moved her hands over his chest. The water pushed back against her, forcing her to move far too slowly. He tangled his hands in her hair as his lips trailed down her throat. Her hands moved lower.

“Enough,” he whispered, his voice sounding strained. He stood up, lifting her out of the water with him

“Lean back,” he told her, and she did, wrapping her legs around his waist as she lay floating. The air felt chill after the warmth of the water, and she felt her nipples tighten. D’Artagnan stared at her hungrily.

He thrust into her, and she grasped his forearms to steady herself. She moaned at the pressure on her most sensitive spot. They wouldn’t be able to stay in this position for long, but that didn’t seem to be a problem, because his movements were quickly growing faster and more erratic. His eyes were shut tight in concentration as he thrust into her again and again, making little waves that washed over her body as she floated, and it wasn’t long before he shuddered and came inside her.

He pulled out, still shaking, and fell to his knees to get a better balance. He pulled her close to him.

“Are you—you didn’t—”

“It’s all right,” she said, moving to kiss him.

“Not yet,” he said before accepting her kiss, deepening it into something passionate, something promising.

He cupped a breast, holding it higher above the surface of the water as he ran his tongue over it. She shuddered as he sucked the water droplets off of the hardened nipple. His other hand moved between her legs, but it was no good; too slow, not enough friction. She was close and yet not close enough.

“Stand up,” he told her, “and hold on to my shoulders.”

He knelt between her legs, and she would have fallen at the sensations if she hadn’t tangled one hand in his hair and pressed his face closer. His tongue caressed her, soft and yet strong enough to make her moan.

“More,” she whispered, and he plunged two fingers inside her, curling and thrusting them as he assaulted her with lips and tongue until she cried out and almost fell. He grasped her hips to steady her, then kissed his way up her torso as he stood. She could see his arousal again, standing proudly above the water, its head poking her belly button.

“You see what you do to me?” he said huskily.

She smiled. Call her power-hungry, but she enjoyed the control she had over him.

“I’m sure I could do something about that,” she said, and dropped to her knees.

“Oh, God, Jacqueline,” he whispered when he realized what she was about to do. She’d never tried this before, but if he enjoyed it half as much as she liked his mouth on her, it really only seemed fair.

He was too big for her to take him all in her mouth, so she started with the head, rolling her tongue around it. He groaned loudly and his fingers dug into her shoulders. There might be bruises later, but she wasn’t planning on wearing anything that would leave them visible. Not in public, at least.

She took a little more of him in, and he hissed. “Careful—teeth!” She tried again, using her lips as a shield, and swirled her tongue around the head again—he’d liked that. She wrapped her hand around the rest of him—he’d always liked that, too—and though it felt strange at first, after a while she found a rhythm that felt natural. She felt him start to get close, but he cried out for her to stop and fairly dragged her to the shore.

“I need to be inside you,” he said.

And then he was, again and again, and this time they came together.

* * *

They shook off as much water as possible, but their bodies were still damp when they had to dress. “Next time I’ll have enough foresight to bring some towels,” said Jacqueline.

D’Artagnan smirked. “Because that doesn’t look suspicious.”

She shrugged. “Not any less suspicious than both of us showing up wet.”

“Maybe I should wait a while before I ride back,” suggested d’Artagnan.

“All right,” she said. She didn’t like leaving him. She didn’t like hiding. But it was the best they could do for now. She kissed him. “Goodnight, d’Artagnan.”

“I love you,” he said.

She rode back alone.

_-fin-_


	4. The Many Inventions of Siroc (humor, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble series, originally posted to Unofficial Young Blades in 2005. Gen, humor, T.

**1\. in which Siroc Almost Invents the Microwave**  
  
_half a drabble (50 words)_  
  
A thoughtful look appeared on Siroc’s face. “Ramon, what would you say about an oven that cooked food from the inside out?”  
  
Ramon stopped eating his chicken leg. “Sacrilege,” he said.  
  
“Perhaps,” Siroc mused. “I’m not sure it would work anyhow.” He folded up the plans and put them away.  
  
  
**2\. in which Siroc Almost Invents the Flush Toilet**  
  
_half a drabble (50 words)_  
  
Siroc gestured at the sketch with the end of his pen. “And then you press down this handle.” He looked up proudly.  
  
Jacques stared.  
  
“Where does it go?” d’Artagnan asked.  
  
Siroc yanked the papers away. “It’s still a work in progress.”  
  
D’Artagnan smirked. Jacques shook his head and walked away.  
  
  
**3\. in which Siroc Invents the Electric Light and Jacques Gets Frustrated**  
  
_a drabble (100 words)_  
  
Jacques regarded the conglomeration of cranks and gears with undisguised suspicion. “So what is this supposed to do?”  
  
“I turn this one, you turn that one” – Siroc pointed – “and the energy the motion creates will cause the glass to light up. Ready?”  
  
Jacques sighed, but helped Siroc turn the cranks. He gave a yelp of surprise when the ball began to glow.  
  
“Faster!” Siroc said with excitement.  
  
The ball glowed brighter and brighter, until the light filled Siroc’s lab.  
  
“Siroc – ” Jacques warned.  
  
The ball shattered.  
  
“Well.” Siroc stared at the broken glass. “Could we try again?”  
  
Jacques walked out.  
  
  
**4\. in which Siroc Invents the Vacuum Cleaner and Louis Ruins the Experience**  
  
_a drabble (100 words)_  
  
“Suction,” Siroc explained. He wheeled the machine closer for the king to inspect. “It removes dirt more quickly and efficiently than any broom.”  
  
“For me?” Louis looked pleased.  
  
Duval bowed. “For you, Your Majesty.”  
  
Siroc motioned. “You just flick this switch right here...” The machine whirred to life. Louis followed it as it rolled along the floor, inspecting the clean trail it left behind.  
  
“Amazing!” He leaned closer. “What happens when you push this button?”  
  
“Don’t – ” Siroc began.  
  
The machine spun across the room, spewing dust into the air.  
  
The king coughed.  
  
Duval looked pained.  
  
“That’s reverse,” Siroc said.  
  
  
**5\. in which Siroc Invents the Window Fan and Learns That It’s the Thought That Counts**  
  
_a double drabble (200 words)_  
  
“Private!”  
  
Siroc snapped to attention at the sound of Duval’s voice. “Yes, sir?”  
  
“Would you care to explain this?”  
  
This was what looked like a hole in the wall but was, upon closer inspection, a window with the glass panes removed. Standing next to it was Siroc, holding a box of parts and looking very guilty. “You weren’t supposed to see it until it was done. Sir. It was supposed to be a present.”  
  
“Your tearing up my office was a present?”  
  
“I heard you complain about the air circulation, so...” Siroc held up what looked like a wheel without the outer rim. “I made you a fan.”  
  
Duval looked amused. “A fan?”  
  
Siroc blushed. “I wanted to apologize for taking your desk apart.”  
  
“And don’t you think, with my desk collapsing, my papers are out of order enough without being blown around the room?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll put the window back.” He put down the box and reached for the glass. It wasn’t long before the window was intact, if not secure. Siroc retrieved his box and started to leave when he saw Duval smile.  
  
“Thank you, Siroc,” he said. “It was a wonderful present all the same.”  
  
  
**6\. in which Siroc Invents the Two-Way Mirror and D’Artagnan Gets an Idea**  
  
_a drabble (100 words)_  
  
“Normally, a mirror is made by coating one side of a glass sheet with silver.” Siroc held up the mirror to show d’Artagnan his reflection.  
  
The two d’Artagnans raised their eyebrows. “And this is different how?”  
  
“The coating is thinner than usual,” Siroc explained. “So one side is a mirror...” He flipped it around. “And the other side is a window.”  
  
“So you can’t see me?”  
  
Siroc lowered the mirror. “It could be put to good use in security. Thieves wouldn’t know if they were being watched.”  
  
D’Artagnan grinned. “You could also watch women.”  
  
Siroc blushed. “I thought of that.”  
  
  
**7\. in which Siroc Almost Invents the Ballpoint Pen**  
  
_half a drabble (50 words)_  
  
“There’s no ink,” said Ramon.  
  
“The ink’s inside. You don’t have to worry about spilling it or blotting.” Siroc held out the pen. “Try it.”  
  
Ramon took the pen gingerly and touched it to the paper. Ink splattered all over his face.  
  
“Of course, it still needs work,” said Siroc.  
  
  
**8\. in which Siroc Invents the Band-Aid**  
  
_a drabble (100 words)_  
  
“It’s sticky,” said Jacques.  
  
“That’s the point,” Siroc explained. “It holds the gauze down around the wound.”  
  
“Won’t it stick to the wound?” d’Artagnan asked.  
  
Siroc shook his head. “Only the outside edge is sticky, so it’s easier to remove.”  
  
Jacques pulled the bandage off the back of his hand and winced, suggesting that it wasn’t quite as easy as Siroc thought. “It’s a bit small for a sword wound anyway,” he pointed out.  
  
Siroc shrugged. “It’s good for paper cuts.”  
  
But his audience had already moved on to other topics: “So, Jacques, how do you like your new mirror?”


	5. Winning Isn't Everything (Jacqueline/d'Artagnan, G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a "Princess Bride" quotes challenge on Unofficial Young Blades, probably in 2005? Takes place sometime between "The Exile" and "Four Musketeers and a Baby." ~950 words.
> 
> Rating: G  
> Pairing: Jacqueline/d'Artagnan  
> Tags: fluff, "the princess bride" references

As much as Jacqueline hated to admit it, d'Artagnan was a good fencer. He was also horribly conceited about that fact. Which made her victories twice as sweet - and her losses twice as humiliating.

And she was losing now. She could tell my his smirk that he was postponing her final defeat for as long as possible, milking his victory for all it was worth. It was a tactic that infuriated her. To have to endure his gloating was enough without prolonging the inevitable. If there was only some way to take advantage of it... Where was a cow when she needed one?

She knew he enjoyed the fact that she fought until the bitter end, but she did it anyway, sword flying back and forth, blocking his attacks and occasionally getting in one of her own as he backed her closer and closer to the wall. She knew there was nowhere to go even before he knocked the sword from her hand.

The point of d'Artagnan's sword pressed against her chest. When she had the advantage, she held her sword close to another part of his anatomy. The threat of emasculation usually facilitated a quick surrender. Women didn't have such a weakness.

"Do you yield?" he asked in a tone so polite that he might have been asking her to a social function.

She stubbornly kept silent.

That smirk again. It wasn't a good sign. He leaned in as close as the length of the blade would allow and lowered his voice to a whisper: "There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world - it would be a pity to damage yours."

Her cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. She knew she shouldn't let him get to her like this; but if that eyebrow of his didn't go back into place she was going to shave it off.

His high opinion of his own skill would be his undoing. He was so certain he had won that he wasn't expecting her to kick his legs out from under him. It was a rash move; his blade only barely missed slicing her cheek. But her anger made her reckless. D'Artagnan's surprise only lasted a moment before he was on his feet, but by that time Jacqueline had retrieved her sword and they were at it again.

"Don't" - thrust - "speak to me" - parry - "like that" - lunge - "again!"

The smirk had been replaced by an expression of concentration, but it returned as he replied smoothly, "As you wish."

His words were mocking, like everything else he said to her. Just because she was a woman, she shouldn't be taken seriously. Just because he was a man, she should ignore the fact that he was an obnoxious, self-absorbed womanizer and fall at his feet. She could tell what the ladies saw in him, but... where had that thought come from?

Too late to wonder, because once again he held the advantage. She made a face, disgusted at herself. Thinking d'Artagnan attractive - that was a huge flying leap off the Cliffs of Insanity!

Stupid, she chided herself as she struggled to fend off his advances. She had not only allowed herself to be distracted, but she had expended her energy on an angry attack that had left herself vulnerable once her second wind was gone. Was there such a thing as a third wind? she wondered as his sword pressed against hers.

"Do you know what I think?" he whispered in her ear as she tried to push him off. "I think you pretend to hate me so much because you're afraid that deep down inside you're really in love with me."

"Love?" she replied incredulously. She finally succeeded in pulling away, and immediately renewed the attack. "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

The eyebrow again. So help her...

"And what do I think it means?"

He was trying to make her uncomfortable, trying to distract her again. And he kept it up even through struggling to block her attacks. "You're just angry" - he dodged her furious stab - "because you know I'm right."

A hard shove, and he was on the ground. Jacqueline straddled his chest, pinning him down. That look he was giving her, the one that usually enraged her, was making her stomach do flip-flops. How could she let this happen?

"Have you ever not been right?" she whispered. She had intended it to be biting and sarcastic, but what had come out was something more gentle, almost as if she cared about the answer. Which she didn't... did she?

"Once," he whispered back. "When I thought you would leave."

She had remembered the sadness in his eyes. Not petty jealousy; something deeper than that. Why hadn't she seen it before?

Maybe she didn't want to see it. Maybe she didn't want to admit her feelings to herself.

Maybe he did care about her after all.

+++

"So, who won?" Ramon inquired between bites of his chicken leg.

Jacques and d'Artagnan stopped in their tracks and looked at each other. There was something different in that look, Siroc thought. Something more than the cold tolerance Jacques had offered d'Artagnan before...

"I'm not sure," said d'Artagnan, sounding confused.

Jacques shrugged and gave a smile that hid a great many things.

"You dueled and you don't know who won?" Ramon gasped. "Inconceivable!"

"It's perfectly conceivable, Ramon," Siroc said with a smile of his own as the last pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. "You just need to know what to look for."

Apparently Jacqueline and d'Artagnan had just found it.

+++

FIN


	6. What Might Have Been (d'Artagnan/Tatiana AU, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Girl from Upper Gaborski" AU where no one discovers that the diamonds are fake and Tatiana ends up marrying Louis. ~300 words.
> 
> Rating: M  
> Pairings: d'Artagnan/Tatiana, d'Artagnan/Jacqueline  
> Tags: AU, episode related, angst, infidelity, unrequited love

_"Please promise me that you'll assign d'Artagnan to be my protector. Permanently."_

He'd stormed off on her then. Refused to be her servant, her plaything. So how did he come to this?

It wasn't long after the wedding when he left the Musketeers. At least, he left the garrison, started living in the palace, spending more and more nights in Tatiana's bed. Remembering to cry out her name instead of the name of the woman he loved.

Jacqueline knew. "I'm going to pray for you," she told him on her last visit to the palace. He told her it wouldn't make a difference; but it was good to know she still cared. That was the last time they spoke.

Sometimes he imagined that he could still love her. That they could go back to a time when she could feel something for him. Or that they didn't need to, because she would forgive him, and all would be well.

But that could never happen. Because the Queen would never let him leave. And he wasn't even sure if he would want to. Here, he didn't have to wonder if he was loved. He knew for a fact that he wasn't.

"D'Artagnan?" Tatiana patted the bed next to her. "Come here."

He went to her side, as if pulled by invisible strings. There was a single candle on her nightstand. She blew it out, plunging them into darkness. The curtains hung around them like a shroud. He knelt between her legs and imagined Jacqueline's face.


	7. The Ring (d'Artagnan/Jacqueline angst, G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> d'Artagnan/Jacqueline angst/breakup, G, ~680 words.

“You lost your ring.”

D’Artagnan’s gave lingered on the third finger of her left hand. The finger that was now bare, that only hours ago had been adorned by a band of gold and diamonds that sparkled like the light in her eyes. It had been his mother’s ring; since he had no sister, it had passed to him when she died. It was one of the few memories he had of her. Jacqueline had protested at first, but when he told her where it came from, she accepted it with a kiss. She understood that his mother’s ring signified the commitment that he found so hard to put into words.

Jacqueline opened her fist. The ring lay on her palm, diamonds twinkling in the firelight, but a glance at her shadowed face revealed that the light had left her eyes.

“It’s not mine.”

When he didn’t reach out to take the ring, she tilted her hand and let it slip off her palm. It landed on the table, rolled off the edge to strike the bench next to her, and finally came to rest on the floor. He didn’t bend to retrieve it.

“Is this about yesterday?”

Yesterday. Only the time, not the event. As if not mentioning it would make it never have happened.

“It’s more than that.”

And maybe it was. Maybe this recent tragedy was only the culmination of a series of events intended to show them that their relationship wouldn’t work. But it had to work; they’d just have to work a little bit harder.

“Is it me?”

That was his worst fear: that he’d been pushing her too fast; that she didn’t feel for him what he felt for her. He had given her that verbal gift, but she had never returned it. Maybe she thought that would make it easier when this had to end.

“No.”

Her voice was choked with tears that hadn’t yet left her eyes. She still didn’t look at him. He didn’t blame her for wanting to make this less painful.

“Then why?”

He knew why. Because she took her job as a Musketeer too seriously to let herself be distracted. To let either of them be distracted.

“Siroc almost died yesterday.”

They hadn’t been paying attention; at least, not to their duties. It was a simple assignment: wait for the thief and arrest him when he came. Siroc had done his calculations to determine where the next robbery would occur, and he and Ramon were waiting at the other door. D’Artagnan and Jacqueline shouldn’t have needed the backup. They should have had the thief cornered before he even knew they were there. Instead, he had a chance to draw a weapon. Their distraction had forced a thief to become an attempted murder. He shouldn’t have had that opportunity.

“The doctor says he’s going to be all right.”

A miracle d’Artagnan thanked God for. He would never forgive himself if his love had cost his friend his life.

“But what about next time?”

He looked down at the ring on the floor, the ring that had graced the hand of his mother, the hand of his lover. Now abandoned, discarded, cast away; like his heart.

“There won’t be a next time.”

She nodded, but not because she knew they could work things out. There wouldn’t be a next time because they would never be in that situation again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears escaped from her eyes now, left a glistening trail as they crawled down her cheek. He understood. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect the ones she loved, even at the expense of another who loved her back.

Silently she rose. He watched the shadow cast by the firelight, dissipating as she moved away until there was nothing, no vestige of her presence except the refraction of light from a single tiny spot on the floor. Slowly he bent down to pick it up, to hold that one last piece of her in his hand. Even if she never wore it again, it would always be hers.


	8. Pretending (Jacqueline POV, G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to Unofficial Young Blades, probably in 2005. Jacqueline POV, pairing not specified, G, ~200 words.

If I said I didn't feel anything for him, I'd be lying. Whether or not it's love, I don't know. But there's something there; something that needs to be killed in seed before it can sprout and kill us both.

I'm not afraid of love. And I'm not afraid he'll betray me. He'd never do that - he's a very different man than Charles. I'm not afraid of that. I'm afraid of pretending. Around him I'm not Jacqueline - I'm Jacques. Jacqueline has a death warrant for killing one of the Cardinal's guards. No matter how strongly she feels, how much she pushes to come out, she has to remain hidden for her own safety. The more I let her out, the harder it is to pull her back inside. I can't be Jacqueline with him and Jacques with everyone else. Hiding all the time is bad enough without tempting myself with a freedom I can never have.

It's not really much of a choice; whether or not I express my feelings, I'm still hiding behind the mask of Jacques. I can't do this forever. Sooner or later, the truth will come out, and someone will get hurt. All I can do is make sure no one gets hurt except me.


	9. Dreams (d'Artagnan/Jacqueline, G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for a drabble prompt series on the theme "Family." D'Artagnan/Jacqueline, 100 words, G.

That night, she dreams that her father and brother are alive. She's still in the Musketeers somehow, despite her gender; in the dream world, everything always makes sense. She and d'Artagnan visit them at the farmhouse. Her father greets them and asks to see his grandchildren.

She wakes up confused, and as her dream world is replaced by the truth, she starts to cry again. It's like losing them for the first time.

She paces the hallways, unable to sleep. D'Artagnan is just getting in. "Bad dreams?" he asks, seeing her face.

"Good ones," she says. She doesn't mention him.


	10. Touch (d'Artagnan/Jacqueline angst, M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for a drabble prompt series on the theme "Touch." 200 words. Alternate scene for the encounter during "The Invincible Sword."
> 
> Rating: M  
> Pairing: d'Artagnan/Jacqueline  
> Tags: angst, dark!Jacqueline, episode related, piv sex, uncomfortable sex

She kissed him.

D’Artagnan was surprised when it happened. He’d imagined wooing her until she yielded to his charms. He’d never expected her to make the first move.

“Wow,” he said when their lips parted. “That was...”

“Almost perfect,” said Jacqueline, and took her hair down. “Now it’s perfect.” She kissed him again. It was different from what he imagined, and he tried to chase away his fantasies and enjoy the reality of her mouth on his.

When he lay down on the bed with Jacqueline tugging at his shirt, the comparison came unbidden: in his version, he was on top. But then she was suddenly naked, kneeling astride him, and he decided that he could get used to this. He raised his hands to her breasts, and she arched her back at his touch. She bit her lip as she lowered herself onto him. Her face showed no indication of pain, but when he kissed her again he tasted blood.

After his climax, she said nothing, just smiled and picked up her clothes. Later he berated himself for not realizing how she had changed. He had wanted too badly to touch her. But even now he couldn’t save her.


	11. They're Writing About Us? (crack, G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Blades characters discover fanfic. I think this was posted to Unofficial Young Blades in 2005. G, gen, pure crack, ~400 words.

Jacqueline: Siroc, what's this?

Siroc: It's my newest invention. It's called a computer. It allows you to exchange signals through the air and communicate with people around the world.

(blank stares)

Ramon: Why would you need to talk to people around the world? Can't you talk to people here?

Siroc: Well, um...

D'Artagnan: Hey, is that me?

(All crowd around computer screen.)

Siroc: That's you... And all of us...

Jacqueline: People talk about us?

Ramon: This is too strange.

D'Artagnan: Well, what do they say about me?

Siroc: They're writing stories about us. Amazing!

Ramon (reading): Jacques's a woman?!?

Jacqueline: Yes, I am.

Siroc (at same time): You didn't know that?

Jaqueline (to Siroc): You knew I was a woman?

Siroc: I guessed.

D'Artagnan: Well, that would explain why you have the hots for each other.

Jacqueline and Siroc: What?!?

Jacqueline: I don't –

Siroc: We don't –

(They look at each other and blush.)

D'Artagnan (grinning): This one's more like it.

Jacqueline: Why, you – I'd never – (pause) Your name's Francois?

D'Artagnan: What? No!

(Ramon and Siroc snicker.)

D'Artagnan: That's not my name!

Ramon: This one doesn't make any sense... Something about a giant and cliffs of insanity. Why aren't there any stories about me?

Siroc: Here's one.

Ramon: Could've gotten my sisters' names right.

D'Artagnan: Well, you never do talk about your family.

Siroc: Cough medicine doesn't make you hallucinate... What's a plushie? And why is this person so obsessed with my apron?

Jacqueline: It's a nice apron.

D'Artagnan: I think they want you to take it off.

Siroc: I beg your pardon?

Jacqueline: I'm pregnant?!?

(All stare at her.)

Jacqueline (annoyed): In the story. (pause) And I'm married to d'Artagnan? What kind of crazy people are they?

Ramon: Pretty crazy. This one's talking about someone called Yoda. I think he's a lizard.

Siroc: A lizard named Yoda?

Ramon: So?

Siroc: What kind of a name is that?

Ramon: Better than Francois...

(All snicker except d'Artagnan, who looks peeved.)

(Suddenly the screen goes black.)

Siroc: Uh-oh. I think the computer just crashed. We must have been reading too many stories.

Jacqueline: Can you fix it?

Siroc: I could try.

(Something sparks, and the computer starts smoking.)

Siroc: On second thought, maybe it would be better if I didn't. I have people to talk to here...

D'Artagnan: Good idea.

Jacqueline: Agreed.

Ramon (nods): That was just too strange.

(pause)

Ramon: So, anyone for a coffee?

\- finis -


	12. Ready to Fall (Jacqueline/Siroc snippet, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippet of an unfinished story, originally posted to LiveJournal in 2008. Jacqueline/Siroc, T, ~620 words, OOC but it makes sense in context.

He knew her secret.

He’d wondered since their experience with Lianna. All the men fell under her spell—but not Jacques. Maybe the others had dismissed it as a fluke; but Siroc had wondered. He’d been confused when Mirelle had claimed Jacques as her fiancé—confused about his suspicion, and more confused about his attraction. But he was certain now: Jacques Leponte was a woman.

Did she know that he knew? He hadn’t mentioned it to her yet; he wasn’t sure how she’d react. Would she trust that her secret was safe with him?

Despite his misgivings, he wanted so badly to tell her. First of all, simply to satisfy his curiosity. Why had she disguised herself? Was she on the run from someone? An unwanted suitor, or an overbearing father? Or maybe she was just trying to get ahead in a world that wouldn’t have allowed her the same opportunities as a woman. She certainly deserved it—she was a better swordsman than he was. Or maybe she was hiding, trying to avoid punishment for some crime. Falsely accused—or not?

And then there was the way he felt when he looked at her, thought of her. The mad feelings of jealousy that he tried to push away when d’Artagnan looked at her that way, too—and the relief he felt when she glared at him in return. He couldn’t express this without revealing that her secret wasn’t as secret as she wanted it to be.

“I know you know,” came a voice from behind him.

Siroc dropped the work in his hands back onto his workbench and whirled around. It was Jacques, and her smile was something he’d never seen on her before—sly, almost seductive.

“I—” His mouth suddenly felt dry. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Jacques.”

“Jacqueline,” she said, and the name sent shivers down his spine.

“What?” he asked, a bit more squeakily than he intended.

“My name is Jacqueline,” she said. She moved closer; her hand was on his shoulder, and he could feel her soft breath on his neck. “You may call me that when we’re alone.”

And they were very alone, closed up in his laboratory, doors and windows locked, and he wondered for a moment how on earth she had gotten in—but before he could ask that her lips were on his and it was heaven, more than he could ever have dreamed of, except in his dreams—and, he assumed, in heaven—there wasn’t that horrible pounding on the inside of his head, or that distant pull of someone calling his name...

Siroc woke in a confused daze. The pounding was louder now—on the door to his laboratory, he realized, although his head had problems of its own.

“Siroc!” came the muffled call again. He dragged himself up and opened the door to face his three friends.

“Finally!” said d’Artagnan.

“I’m sorry...” Siroc shook his head to get his bearings. He’d sat up all night again trying to finish another hopeless project. It was just after sunrise, which meant he’d probably only dozed off for a few minutes—minutes that left him more confused than rested.

“Captain Duval wants us right away,” said Jacques. Then, a bit more gently (or maybe that was his imagination): “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. He straightened his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair—he didn’t need a mirror, or Ramon’s raised eyebrows, to know that it had little effect on his appearance. “Let’s see what this is all about.”

As they walked down the hallway to Duval’s office, he realized belatedly, and with a bit of horror, that Ramon’s raised eyebrows weren’t directed at his hair.


	13. Unfinished Fic #1 (character death, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippet of an unfinished fic labeled "Deathfic: Yay Dark and Gratuitous Angst! (working title)" in my docs. Probably written around 2007, but I'm pretty sure it was never posted publicly. Presumably the idea was that Siroc would find some way to resurrect Jacqueline through the Power of Science and become corrupted by Mazarin in the process.

“She’s dead.”

The words come in a hoarse whisper, torn from Siroc’s throat by powers beyond his control. He doesn’t want to say them. He doesn’t want them to be true.

Jacqueline lies unmoving on the bed. Her body is still warm. Or maybe it’s just the warmth of his hand seeping into hers, the hand he won’t let go.

He feels a hand on his shoulder. “You did everything you could,” d’Artagnan says.

Siroc shakes his head. “Not everything.”

He’d escaped long ago, and promised himself that he’d never go back. Terrible things went on in those dungeons. Cruel experiments, dark magic—or maybe “magic” was just a word for science they hadn’t figured out yet. He’d witnessed some of that himself: a centuries-old corpse rising from its coffin. He can’t explain how it happened. He only knows that he can’t accomplish it himself, and that he’ll do anything to save her, even if it means selling his soul.

He picks up her body, cradling her in his arms. She feels far too light. The blood is still seeping through her bandage. He feels it soak into his shirt. It’s not like her blood wasn’t on him already.

D’Artagnan steps in front of him. “Don’t do this.” But when Siroc pushes past, d’Artagnan makes no move to stop him. He loved Jacqueline, too. Maybe he’s also desperate enough to seek help from the person they all hate the most.

It will cost him everything, but that doesn’t matter, as long as he can bring her back.

\---

“How did you get in here?”

After all these years, Mazarin still doesn’t know all the secret passageways in his dungeon. Siroc used the same tunnels to enter in secret as he had to escape. He knows Mazarin’s surprised to see him, and not just because he arrived unannounced and unnoticed. Siroc’s not the kind of person to come back voluntarily. But he knows that Mazarin’s not the kind of person who can refuse what he has to offer.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Siroc. All that matters is her life. He holds out Jacqueline’s body, her head hanging back, arms and legs dangling limply, like a broken puppet’s. “I want you to bring her back.”

Mazarin isn’t one to be shocked by death. He frowns pensively. “If I could, what would you give me in exchange?”

“Anything you want,” says Siroc. He has no leverage to bargain with. Mazarin already knows that he’s desperate enough to give up anything.

“Last time I tried to use your skills to my advantage,” says Mazarin, “you failed me miserably. You destroyed your own creation, rather than let it fall into my hands.”

“I could make it again,” says Siroc, fighting back tears.

Mazarin strokes his beard. He’s enjoying this, the bastard. “Of course, you’d have to resign from the Musketeers and move your laboratory somewhere I could... keep an eye on you.”

“Just bring her back, damn it!”

Mazarin nods. “Come with me.”


	14. Unfinished Fic #2: The Power of the Obelisk (Jacqueline/Siroc, Stargate SG-1/Forever Knight crack crossover, T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Blades/Forever Knight/Stargate SG-1 crossover. I haven't tagged the other fandoms and characters, as it seems misleading when the rest of the fics in this collection are just YB.
> 
> The first eight chapters were posted to Henchman at Heart in 2007, but the fic was never finished. I've included some notes from the doc where I was plotting out the fic to show a vague outline and final scene.
> 
> Rating: T  
> Pairing: Jacqueline/Siroc  
> Tags: crossover, crack

**Chapter 1**

  
“Jack, this is an amazing discovery--”  
  
“No.”  
  
“It could teach us so much about the--”  
  
“No.”  
  
“We have the ship to--”  
  
“For the last time, Daniel, the answer is no!”  
  
“Please?”  
  
“Well, since you said please...”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Are we interrupting something?” Sam and Teal’c stuck their heads into Jack’s office with matching raised eyebrows. Jack was sitting behind his desk, his feet propped up on it. Daniel was standing next to him, looking flabbergasted at the fact that he was losing this argument.  
  
“Yes,” said Daniel.  
  
“No,” said Jack.  
  
Daniel glared. “This”--he waved the book in his hand--“is an amazing discovery!”  
  
Jack sighed. He’d heard enough about it. “I’ve got paperwork to do,” he said. Teal’c looked pointedly at Jack’s feet; he pulled them off the desk and began rustling papers in a very professional manner. “Don’t let him drag you into his crazy time travel scheme.”  
  
Unfortunately, that only made Sam look more interested. “Time travel?”  
  
“This was recently discovered in Paris,” Daniel said of the book. “The diary of a seventeenth-century Musketeer and inventor. Part of the diary exposes a secret society led by the French cardinal of the time.”  
  
“I do not see how this requires time travel, DanielJackson.”  
  
Daniel raised a finger. “There’s more. Apparently the cult was organized around an obelisk which was purported to have mystical powers. There’s a whole series of entries about how it raised a three hundred-year-old corpse from the dead. Everyone else is taking this as some amateur creative fiction, but I’m not so sure.”  
  
“You think it’s part of a sarcophagus?” asked Sam.  
  
“Something like it, at least. It appears to be an ancient Egyptian artifact, so probably Goa’uld technology. The inventor got to examine it for a time when someone stole it and brought it to him. Guy claimed to be a vampire and thought the obelisk can give him back mortal life. The cardinal attempted to steal back the obelisk and it was apparently destroyed.”  
  
“You wish to recover the obelisk before that happens,” said Teal’c.  
  
“Exactly,” said Daniel. “It could give us a lot of insight into the technology.”  
  
“It’s a risky plan,” said Sam. “Your calculations would have to be pretty exact.”  
  
“You’re not siding with him, are you?” asked Jack incredulously.  
  
“Well, he’s right, sir. Assuming all this is true--”  
  
“Vampires?” Jack cut in.  
  
“Assuming it’s true,” Sam continued, “it would be an important find. And you _can_ pilot the Ancient timeship.”  
  
“This is a bad idea,” said Jack. But he knew he’d have to give in eventually. Better sooner and skip all the trouble. “All right.”

\---

**Chapter 2**

  
"I wish you'd give up this silly obsession, Nicholas."  
  
Nicholas shook his head. "It's not a silly obsession, Lacroix. I'm going to be mortal again."  
  
Lacroix leaned against the side of the building. His laugh was low, almost like a caress. He was so confident of his hold, of his power over Nicholas. More confident than Nicholas was that mortality could ever be something more than an unattainable dream.  
  
"It can't be done, Nicholas. It never has been."  
  
"I know it can," Nicholas insisted. "This is the key." He took the object from the inside of his shirt and unwrapped the cloth around it. It was a rectangle of black stone, coming to a point at the top, and decorated with strange symbols.  
  
Lacroix's eyes widened. "Where did you get that?"  
  
"I stole it." It had been fairly simple, once he determined the heart of the secret society--Cardinal Mazarin, regent to the French throne. His secret passageways were guarded well against human invaders, but not against someone with the power of hypnosis. Once past the guards, he had torn the dungeon apart looking for the obelisk. Now he held it in his hands.  
  
He just didn't know how to use it.  
  
"You recognize it?" Nicholas asked.  
  
"It is an object of great power." Lacroix reached out his hand, but Nicholas snatched the obelisk away.  
  
"You don't know how to harness its energies," Lacroix said. "Neither did the person you stole it from, or we would have seen its effects. How do you expect to make yourself mortal when in your hands, it is a mere stone?"  
  
Nicholas was still determined. â€œI have the name of someone who can help me. He's a man of science."  
  
"This is no science. This is dark and evil magic."  
  
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "You sound excited, Lacroix."  
  
Lacroix didn't deny it. "The obelisk offers its wielder immense power. Who wouldn't be excited?"  
  
"Someone who wanted to use it for good."  
  
"You can't change the nature of things, Nicholas," said Lacroix, and Nicholas knew that he was no longer referring to the stone.  
  
"Leave me be," said Nicholas. He needed to find the inventor before the light of day.  
  
Lacroix smiled as he turned away. "Only because I know you will return to me."  
  
Nicholas could only hope otherwise.  
  
He made his way alone through the Paris streets. It was getting precariously close to dawn; he needed to reach the Musketeer garrison before the sun rose. He needed to get out of the sun, and they needed to figure out the obelisk's secrets as soon as possible. The Cardinal would not be happy that it was stolen, and it was only a matter of time before he was able to track it down.  
  
He reached the barracks just in time. There was a bit of movement already--the first shift starting, he assumed. "Excuse me," he asked one of the Musketeers in the entrance, "I'm looking for Siroc."  
  
"His laboratory's that way, to the left." The Musketeer pointed down a hallway, then yawned. "It's far too early."  
  
"Maybe if you didn't stay out so late," snapped his companion, and then turned to Nicholas.  
"It's a bit more complicated than that. I'll take you there."  
  
"Have fun," said the first. "I'm going to get some coffee."  
  
"Maybe the Queen was right about it taking over the city," the other mumbled as he led Nicholas into the garrison. "I've never seen you before," he said by way of conversation. "I'm Jacques Leponte."  
  
"Nicholas de Brabant," he introduced himself. "I've heard your Siroc is a brilliant man."  
  
Jacques smiled, and strangely Nicholas thought he detected the hint of a blush. "That he is. What are you seeing him for?"  
  
"I have a... scientific problem that I thought he could help me with."  
  
"I'm sure he'd love it," said Jacques. He stopped and knocked on a door. "Siroc?"  
  
There was a sound of rattling metallic parts. After a moment it stopped. "Come in!"  
  
Jacques opened the door. A man appeared from under the counter. He looked at his oil lamps and then at the curtained windows which showed a bit of the new sun around the edges.  
  
"Is it really morning already?"  
  
Jacques nodded, slightly amused. "Working on something important?"  
  
Siroc sighed. "Something disastrous." He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "It's all right. I knew it would never work." But his voice showed his disappointment. He finally seemed to notice Nicholas's presence. "Who...?"  
  
"This is Nicholas de Brabant," Jacques introduced. "He has a Scientific Problem for you." Nicholas could hear the capitalization. Jacques's voice grew gentler, a bit less gruff, so that Nicholas realized that the gruffness must be an act. "If you need some sleep, I could cover your shift."  
  
"I couldn't--" Siroc began.  
  
"--possibly go out riding on a night of no sleep," finished Jacques.  
  
"I've done it before," said Siroc. Nicholas began to get the feeling that he was in the middle of something private. "I just need a coffee."  
  
"I'll bring you one, then," Jacques compromised, and left.  
  
Siroc looked at the mess spread over his table and sighed. "Damn. Another night of accomplishing nothing..." He looked up at Nicholas. "Come in."  
  
"I was told you could help me with my problem," Nicholas said as he closed the door behind him.  
  
"I hope so." Siroc moved some papers off one stool and a box of tools off the other and moved them both over to his work bench. "Why don't you have a seat?"  
  
They each took a stool. Nicholas edged his away from the patch of sunlight. He paused for a moment. He'd had a speech all prepared, but he wasn't sure about it anymore. One could never tell how humans would react to the existence of vampires.  
  
"This may be frightening to you," Nicholas began. "Something you have never seen, that you may not be able to explain."  
  
"I like puzzles," said Siroc.  
  
Nicholas had never really thought of himself as a puzzle. But maybe it was true. Maybe it was something for this inventor to solve.  
  
"I am a vampire," he said.  
  
Siroc looked skeptical. "I've heard stories," he said. "Men who become monsters, who attack humans for their blood, and can only come out in the dark of night." He didn't sound like he believed them.  
  
"Pretty accurate," said Nicholas.  
  
"What exactly do you want me to do, Monsieur Brabant?" asked Siroc, as if this were some prank.  
  
"I want to become human again."  
  
"You look pretty human to me."  
  
Nicholas reached a hand in front of him, into the patch of sunlight. Siroc looked on in horror as it began to smoke. "Does this happen to humans, Monsieur Siroc? Or this?"  
  
Siroc jumped away as Nicholas let the monster show on his face. "This is impossible," he said, sounding less convinced. "It doesn't make any sense."  
  
"Many things in life don't," said Nicholas, face back to normal, hand pulled out of the sun. "That doesn't mean they aren't real."  
  
Siroc stared in wonder and shook his head. "I don't know if I can help you. I don't know anything about this..."  
  
"But you've had some experience with this object, yes?"  
  
Nicholas held out the obelisk.  
  
"Where did you get that?" Siroc demanded.  
  
"I stole it from Cardinal Mazarin," said Nicholas.  
  
Siroc started pacing. "Don't you see what you've done? Mazarin will want to find the person responsible for the theft. He doesn't know who you are or why you'd want it. But he knows that I'd give my sword arm for a chance to examine it, to figure out what it really does. To be able to explain its magic with science." He stopped pacing and looked up at Nicholas. "Get it out of here. Return it."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Nicholas. "I can't do that. This may be my chance to become mortal again. And besides"--he gave a pointed look towards the windows--"I can't go anywhere until nightfall."  
  
Both men looked up in horror as the door opened. Jacques walked in with three steaming mugs. "I brought some for Monsieur Brabant as well..." He nearly dropped the coffee when he saw the obelisk. "Is that what I think it is?"  
  
Siroc rushed over to close the door. "If you think it's Mazarin's obelisk," he said in a low voice, "than yes."  
  
Jacques's eyes widened. "This is very bad."  
  
Nicholas shrunk down in his chair. He wasn't expecting this complication. The obelisk was such a powerful thing that he should have known that blood would be shed over it. He could only hope that none would be shed because of him.

\---

**Chapter 3**

Mazarin’s roar echoed through the dungeon. Captain Bernard flinched.  
  
“I’m sorry, Your Excellency. I searched everywhere--”  
  
“Search again!” Mazarin growled. “The obelisk must be found!”  
  
Everything in the dungeon had been overturned; once by the thief, and once by Captain Bernard in his frantic search. The Cardinal would not tolerate the loss of his most valuable possession, and he would need someone to blame. Bernard was doing everything in his power to ensure that it wouldn’t be him.  
  
“Have you questioned the guards?” asked Mazarin.  
  
“They say they saw nothing,” said Bernard.  
  
“Then they must be executed,” said Mazarin through clenched teeth, “for aiding a traitor.”  
  
“There is no traitor.”  
  
The voice came from the shadows. Bernard jumped. A man stepped into the dim torchlight, a smile on his pale face. Bernard drew his sword, and the man gave a soft laugh.  
  
“Put your weapon away, boy. It has no effect on me.”  
  
Bernard didn’t comply. “Who are you?”  
  
“My name is Lucien Lacroix.” His tone was almost seductive. Bernard shivered. “I can give you news of your thief.”  
  
Emboldened by the need to retrieve the obelisk, Mazarin stepped closer. “How did you get in here?”  
  
Lacroix ignored him. “Killing the guards will accomplish nothing. They do not remember because Nicholas has charmed them to forget his presence.” He paused. “I also have this power.”  
  
Mazarin moved closer still, not frightened at all by the obvious presence of black magic. No blacker than Mazarin’s own, Bernard supposed; but somehow Lacroix seemed much more dangerous.  
  
“And what have you to gain by helping me?” Mazarin asked.  
  
“Nicholas believes that your obelisk can cure him,” said Lacroix. “I do not wish him to be ‘cured.’ ”  
  
“Do you know where the obelisk is?”  
  
“Nicholas took it to a Musketeer.”  
  
Mazarin stiffened. “Siroc.”

\---

**Chapter 4**  
  
At the knock on his door, Duval looked up from his papers. “Come in!”  
  
Siroc entered. “Captain.” His voice was soft and quite pained. He paused for a deep breath as he closed the door behind him.  
  
“Something wrong?” asked Duval.  
  
“Someone came to me this morning with a... scientific problem,” said Siroc. “I’m afraid he has unintentionally put us in danger.”  
  
“What ‘scientific problem’ might that be?” asked Duval, recognizing the euphemism for what it was.  
  
He didn’t, of course, expect Siroc to reach into the pocket of his apron and pull out Mazarin’s obelisk.  
  
Duval leapt up from his chair. “Where did you get that?”  
  
“Someone stole it and brought it to me. He thinks it can help cure his... disease. But I know Mazarin will assume that I’m the one behind it.”  
  
Duval nodded solemnly. “It could be what he needs to disband the Musketeers for good.”  
  
“I’m going away with it for a few days,” said Siroc. He didn’t ask permission. Duval knew he’d already seen too much, and it would be safer if Siroc acted on his own.  
  
“I’m taking Jacques with me,” Siroc continued.  
  
“Jacques didn’t have anything to do with this?” Duval exclaimed in disbelief.  
  
“Not directly,” said Siroc. “But it’s safer. This way Mazarin can’t use h—Jacques—to get to me.”  
  
There was something more beneath the surface. There always was with Siroc. He wasn’t one to give up his secrets readily. It had been years before he could trust Duval with the story of his past. Duval had learned not to pry, that Siroc would tell when he was ready.  
  
“Use the back door,” he said. “Keep off the main roads and stay out of sight.”  
  
Siroc nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Then the obelisk was hidden once more and Siroc was gone.  
  
_God have mercy on him,_ thought Duval.  
  
\---  
  
“Shouldn’t we—” Jacqueline began.  
  
“There’s no time,” said Siroc, dashing frantically around his laboratory in an attempt to gather everything he might need. He paused for a moment next to her and lowered his voice. “You can’t stay here. If Mazarin knows anything... It won’t be safe.” His eyes were pleading. She wanted to be stubborn, to say that she could fight Mazarin fine on her own. But she couldn’t let him worry for her, not when she—  
  
“I’ll come with you,” she said.  
  
He looked like he wanted to kiss her right then, but Nicholas stood across the room, observing them curiously. Siroc stepped away. “There’s some blankets in that trunk,” he said with a gesture. “We’ll cover you up, keep you out of the sunlight.”  
  
“But what if—” Nicholas began, looking understandably nervous.  
  
“If we don’t get out of here,” interrupted Jacqueline, “we could be dead. That wouldn’t help you very much.”  
  
Maybe the sun would burn him, she thought, and it would be the end of their troubles. She didn’t really mean that, she thought a moment later. He was only trying to have a normal life again. She understood that feeling.  
  
“I’ll get the haycart,” she said.  
  
\---  
  
Suddenly so much made sense to Nicholas. His vampire hearing had picked up their hushed whispers, heard how Jacques voice had gone from a forced gruffness to something unnaturally high—at least for a man. And the way they acted around each other was not so curious anymore.  
  
Jacques was a woman, and she and Siroc were in love. He hoped to God he didn’t ruin that now.

\---

**Chapter 5**

“Are you certain of these coordinates, DanielJackson?”  
  
Daniel, hunched over Siroc’s diary in the back of the puddle jumper, straightened up when he heard Teal’c’s voice. “This is where he says they came,” he said. “I did give us a little leeway with the time, just so we wouldn’t be too late.”  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. “If you’d told me that, I would have brought a book.”  
  
Daniel shrugged. “I’d lend you mine, but it’s in Latin.”  
  
“Thanks, anyway,” said Jack. He used to know a bit of Latin—Ancient, really, but it was similar enough—but all that knowledge had gotten sucked out of his head. Twice. All he had now was the unfortunate ability to pilot an Ancient timeship that would probably get them into loads of trouble.  
  
“Someone’s coming,” Sam said, returning from her lookout position right outside the jumper.  
  
“Cloak’s up,” said Jack, and they waited and watched.  
  
\---  
  
“Jacque, I appreciate what you’re doing, but how many times can a person pray the rosary in three hours?”  
  
Jacqueline stopped mouthing her silent prayers, but didn’t open her eyes. “It depends on how patient they are,” she said. “And how desperate.”  
  
Desperate. That was certainly true. They’d all seen the power of the obelisk; and if that didn’t kill them, Mazarin would.  
  
Some days Siroc believed in God; some days he wasn’t sure. Today he _had_ to believe. Had to have faith that something stronger than Mazarin would keep them safe.  
  
“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he said.  
  
She opened her eyes. “It’s all right. Are we almost there?”  
  
“Just a few more minutes,” said Siroc.  
  
He had set up a safe place soon after he joined the Musketeers, just in case he ever needed somewhere to hide. But it wasn’t his past catching up with him, as he’d thought. It was his present—the name he’d made for himself. A name which hadn’t belonged to him until recently. He and Jacqueline were perhaps alike in that way. Maybe that was part of what drew them to each other.  
  
The cottage came into view, and he pulled on the reins. “We’re here.”

\---

**Chapter 6**

“How long are you going to stare at that?” asked Jacqueline.  
  
“I’m not staring,” said Siroc. The obelisk stood on the table before him as he wrote. A candle burned next to him; the curtains were drawn for Nicholas’s safety and against the possibility of discovery. He had started recording a physical description of the obelisk, but his thoughts were troubled by distraction.  
  
_I don’t know if it’s really safe even here,_ he wrote. _I helped set up this place years ago, in case I should need a hiding place if_ \--here he had scribbled something out and replaced it-- _my past came back to haunt me.  
  
Perhaps I will be the last to see this book; if that is so I may as well record the truth. Jacques and I are both wanted, although for different reasons. And I cannot let Mazarin harm her as he has so many others.  
  
But my reasons for bringing her were perhaps not entirely selfless. What if the obelisk’s evil is too much for a good man to overcome? What if it corrupts me? Nicholas is a monster; he could not save me. Perhaps Jacqueline can._  
  
“There’s someone outside,” Nicholas said suddenly.  
  
Jacqueline raised her head and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”  
  
“Vampire hearing,” said Nicholas. “It’s stronger than yours.”  
  
Jacqueline looked slightly doubtful, but drew her sword anyway. “I should go have a look.”  
  
As she walked to the door, Siroc tore out the page and stuck a corner into the candle flame. He held it as it burned until the flame reached his fingers, then dropped it to the table and watched it smolder into ash.  
  
No one could know their secrets.  
  
\---  
  
Jacqueline crept out quietly, hoping the noises were just animals or lost travelers and not Mazarin’s men. She counted on her ability to take them down if they were; but it would certainly raise suspicion if the guards did not return. It was too soon, she thought, to find another place to hide.  
  
She’d had enough of hiding, anyway. When they got through this she’d find some way for them to never have to hide again.  
  
It was a nice hope.  
  
She froze, sword drawn, when she got close enough to hear the voices that Nicholas had picked up from inside the cabin. Maybe he did have special abilities after all. Useful ones. She wondered if they were worth giving up daylight.  
  
The voices cam from behind a cluster of trees, hushed whispers that almost blended into the breeze that ruffled the leaves. If they were still whispering, that meant that they couldn’t see her. She needed to use her advantage while she still had it. As she got closer to their hiding place, she broke into a run and leapt around the trees to face them.  
  
The sight was not at all what she expected. They didn’t look like Mazarin’s men, and if they were travelers they must have been from some strange foreign place, for their clothing was entirely unfamiliar. There were four men--no, three men and a woman, she realized, noticing the curves under the male clothing. A woman, like her, living in disguise?  
  
The strangers seemed just as surprised as she. The brown-haired man with the strange frames over his eyes raised his hands and spoke to the others in a language she didn’t recognize. Thankfully, she recovered from the surprise before they did. She raised her sword.  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
\---  
  
Mazarin arrived sooner than Duval had expected.  
  
“Captain,” he said coldly, “I believe you have something of mine.”  
  
Duval didn’t offer the courtesy of rising from behind his desk. “I’m not sure what you mean.”  
  
Mazarin leaned forward threateningly. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”  
  
“It must be very important,” said Duval, “for you to come here in person.”  
  
Captain Bernard entered without knocking. “We’ve searched the barracks,” he said. “He’s not here, sir.”  
  
“I don’t recall giving you permission for a search,” said Duval, matching Mazarin’s coldness.  
  
Mazarin, predictably, ignored this. “Where is Siroc?”  
  
“On leave,” said Duval. “He’ll be back in a few days; I’m sure your-- _problem_ \--can wait until then.”  
  
Mazarin slammed his fist down on the desk. Duval stared back at him, unflinching.  
  
“When I find him,” said Mazarin, his voice a low growl, “I will disband the Musketeers, once and for all.”  
  
It wasn’t an idle threat, Duval knew. But he had to protect his men, and all of France. He couldn’t stand down now.  
  
\---  
  
Ramon and d’Artagnan rushed into Duval’s office as soon as they saw Mazarin leave.  
  
“What’s going on?” d’Artagnan burst out. “Is Siroc in trouble?”  
  
Duval sat back in his chair, exhausted, as if he had just fought a huge battle and wasn’t sure who had won.  
  
“I can’t tell you,” he said. “For Siroc’s safety, and for yours. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Siroc’s our friend, _Capitan_ ,” said Ramon.  
  
“We just want to help him,” said d’Artagnan. “All for one and--all that.” He hated that motto, but it was true. And besides, there was Jacqueline, who seemed to have disappeared along with Siroc. He knew something was going on between them. Regardless of how she felt for him--or didn’t--he didn’t want to see her get hurt.  
  
“He’s somewhere safe,” said Duval. His stern glance told them to stop asking questions.  
  
They left Duval’s office with sunken spirits. “I wish Siroc had said something to us,” said Ramon. “We’re his friends. We could have helped him.”  
  
Suddenly a light went on in d’Artagnan’s head. “We still can,” he said. At Ramon’s puzzled look, he patted the Spaniard on the shoulder and hurried down the hallway. “I know where he is.”

\---

**Chapter 7**

  
  
“Don’t worry,” said Daniel as he raised his hands. “I’ll take care of this.”  
  
“ _Qui êtes-vous_?” demanded the Musketeer.  
  
“ _Nous sommes des voyageurs_ ,” said Daniel. “ _Nous cherchoms M. Siroc_.”  
  
The Musketeer brought his sword closer and shouted something angrily.  
  
“Daniel, what did you tell him?” asked Jack.  
  
“I said we’re looking for Siroc,” said Daniel. “He seems to distrust our motives somewhat.”  
  
“Understandable,” said Sam. “Can you tell him we mean no harm?”  
  
“I don’t know how much help that’ll be,” said Daniel, but he repeated the message. The Musketeer didn’t look entirely convinced.  
  
“ _Êtes-vous les soldats de M. Mazarin_?”  
  
“ _Non_!”  
  
“ _Maìs… qui dépêchez-vous_?”  
  
“He wants to know who sent us,” said Daniel.  
  
“ ‘We’re from the future’ is kind of hard to explain, isn’t it?” said Sam ruefully.  
  
“Maybe we should just zat him,” suggested Jack.  
  
“That will not go well for diplomacy, GeneralO’Neill,” said Teal’c.  
  
Daniel spoke a few words in Latin, but the Musketeer stared quizzically. “This isn’t Siroc,” said Daniel. “The diary’s written in Latin, but he doesn’t recognize it. I don’t know his name; the diary didn’t mention another Musketeer.”  
  
“Maybe he’s the vampire,” suggested Jack.  
  
“Doesn’t fit the description,” said Daniel. “Whoever the vampire is, he at least _thinks_ he can’t go into the sunlight.” He turned back to the Musketeer. “ _Amenons-nous à Siroc_ ,” he said. “ _Il explira tous que vous desirez_.”  
  
The Musketeer stared strangely, and Daniel worried for a moment that he hadn’t gotten his point across. But after seeming to weigh the risks, the Musketeer finally lowered his sword.  
  
“ _D’accord_ ,” he said, and Daniel breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
“He’s going to take us to Siroc,” he announced. “I said that he would understand.”  
  
“Because you can explain the science to him?” asked Sam.  
  
“No,” said Daniel with a shrug. “Because my Latin is better than my French.”

\---

**Chapter 8**

  
  
Nicholas lifted his head. “They’re coming,” he said. The far-away murmurs had cleared as they grew closer, but he couldn’t understand a word of their strange language. He didn’t hear Jacques.  
  
“I think they’ve captured him,” he said. “They’re coming for us.”  
  
For a moment he thought only of his own safety; the humans were only worth saving because they were helping him. The next moment he felt ashamed. It was no better than using them for blood. He needed to protect them not for himself, but because everyone deserved to live.  
  
Siroc drew his sword. Nicholas bared his fangs. The door opened, and they rushed towards it.  
  
“Stop!” Jacques shouted. There were four men behind her, dressed in strange clothing. They stared at him in disbelief. One whispered to another in their language, and Nicholas could make out the word “vampire.” He pushed the monster away, revealing his human face once more. They didn’t stop staring.  
  
“What’s going on?” asked Siroc, cautiously lowering his sword.  
  
“They say they’re not from Mazarin,” said Jacques. “They wanted to walk to you. They said you could explain things. Their French isn’t very good, but I think they want to help.”  
  
The brown-haired stranger spoke in a new language, one which Nicholas, from his church-going days, recognized as Latin. Siroc’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible.”  
  
Nicholas and Jacques looked at each other in confusion. The other three strangers seemed equally lost.  
  
“What did he say?” Nicholas asked when Siroc didn’t translate.  
  
Siroc shook his head, as if he didn’t quite believe it.  
  
“He said they’re from the future.”  
  
\---  
  
“I have your book,” said Daniel in Latin, holding it out as proof. Siroc reached out tentatively; was he afraid that it was a trap, or that Daniel might be telling the truth? But once Siroc recognized the first page, he began to flip through it frantically.  
  
“Where did you get this?” he demanded in the same language.  
  
“It was discovered several months ago, in my time; three hundred years in the future from yours.”  
  
“How is this possible?” he asked; no longer in denial, his scientist’s mind wanted to explain it. If only Sam could speak to him; technobabble was her domain.  
  
“We have a ship--a flying ship”--there wasn’t a good Latin word for “puddle jumper,” was there? -- “that can travel in space and time. I can’t explain it all. But we came here to see you because you have something we need.”  
  
Siroc dropped the book and reached for his sword. “You’re Mazarin’s spies!” he shouted in French, and suddenly everything was chaos.

\---

**Notes**

[Sam gets into a swordfight for some reason.]

“Carter! Fencing?”

“It was an extracurricular, sir.”

* * *

[Siroc cannot figure out the obelisk. SG-1 shows up. Sam touches it and due to the naquadah in her blood is able to control it to a degree. They say they want it. Nick wants them to help him first. Siroc says that the obelisk is too dangerous and they should destroy it.]

* * *

[Mazarin tries to recover the obelisk.]

* * *

Sam shot.

Mazarin crumpled to the ground.

Siroc rushed over to examine the body. He looked up in awe. “He’s dead.”

Jacqueline stared with something like shock and elation.

“Oh, crap,” said Jack.

* * *

[They use the obelisk to raise Mazarin in order to avoid confusion in the time stream. Nicholas goes back to searching for a cure. SG-1 returns home.]

* * *

Jack powered up the ship. “Next time, we go someplace quiet.”

“At least we’ve recovered the obelisk,” said Daniel.

“And seen that ColonelCarter has remarkable talent,” said Teal’c with a smile.

Sam suddenly gasped. “I know where I’ve seen Nicholas before.”

“Carter, that’s impossible,” said Jack.

She held up a hand. “You know a few years ago when there was a big meteor scare and everyone thought the world was going to end? The Stargate program was all up in arms about alien attack, but it turns out it was all a hoax.”

“What about it?” asked Daniel.

“Nick Knight was one of the detectives on the case in Toronto,” said Sam. “And he’s the same man as Nicholas de Brabant.”

The others stared.

“Real vampires...?” said Daniel.

Jack shook his head. “Nah.”

_-fin-_


End file.
